#poorly executed i fear but it's too hot here for my brain so this will have to do

[frobitcher-smythe]

This Barbie found the secret room!

[mxvladdy]

heyy i just read your fic Case of the Munchies on ao3 and im Loving it!!!! its amazing!! i was wonder if youre accepting requests and if you haven’t done it could you write the same for the rest: mammon, levi, satan, belphi, dia, barbatos and smth for simeon and luke (ofc platonic) like how angles have a true form and that means they can never relax around mc and how solomon has so much power at his fingertips he can just snap and end them or smth like that? pretty please and thank you!!!!

A/N: Of Course! Of Course! I already did Mammon and Levi HERE so I’ll do the other four in this request! You sent me a lot of good ideas and I’ll sprinkle them out into other requests soon!

Hope you like it!!

Case of the Munchies prt 3!

Word Count: 4.2k

Characters: Satan, Belphie, Diavolo, Barbatos

TW: Mentions of eating and cook humans, very mild gore

Satan

As the only full-blooded demon of the seven, he has thought about it...just hypothetically of course. When you were new to the Devildom he did find your scent more appetizing than the others. It’s a good thing he has the most restraint and control of all his kin, especially when it comes to his more base urges.

He doesn’t hide this knowledge from you. It’s readily available in the library and his own room in the history books. He just won’t bring it up. So if you don’t say anything, he won’t either. What would he say anyway? “Yes, I’ve thought about it, up until it was outlawed it was a staple of our diet after all…” Ye, probably not the best thing to say.

When you finally brought it up he was exasperated. Did you have to bring it up during the few hours he had alone with himself? He wasn’t going to lie but the thought of hurting your feelings would just about do him in.

He will alleviate your worries if you have any. If Satan was anything, he was genuine.

Mini Fic

His wine curdles in his stomach, turning sour along with the take-out he had nabbed for the two of you to enjoy tonight. Drinks and dinner were becoming a staple in your T.V. night tradition. If one of you had had a rough day you would drop by your favorite shop of the hour and pick up a meal to share while you vent.

Today in particular had been a shit day for him. Failed experiment after failed experiment, and one bottle that didn’t explode on impact with the potion he dropped. Sigh. At least your comforting words soothed his wounded pride a little. You chuckle at his escapades glad to see he is not hurt at least. It was nice to have someone to see the humor in something that normally would have dampened his mood.

“You’re a pest.” He laughs at you while snapping his takeout chopsticks in half to use. “I need sympathy-hours of work wasted.” You snort into your own bowl of udon.

“You need words of praise like Beel needs another stomach.” Satan gasps in mock insult pointing a sauce stained chopstick at you.

“How dare you insult your host! After I toiled over this meal of-” What did he get exactly? Honestly, when he placed the order he was near boiling with rage at his careless fumble. It was to be a surprise for you, something to give you a bit of magic while supervised by himself. He knew how frustrated you were with your lack of magical ability in class so he wanted to gift you something grand. Now he has to wait months to try again.

Ah, well...nothing ventured nothing gained as they say.

You watch him sulk over his soup dumplings, his mile away from the comfort of your company and his room. “Come on blondie.” You poke him with your foot before burying them under his pajama-clad thighs on the couch. “Eat your ‘hard earned’ meal before I do.” You snatch up his D.D.D forgetting your own food for a moment to set up your favorite streaming service to cast to his small T.V. “Want to watch a bunch of humans fail miserably at baking?”

"I thought you would never ask."

Satan feels you stiffen in his arms two hours into your bake-off marathon. Your takeout boxes are cold and forgotten on his coffee table, a bottle of wine gone between the two of you. He glances down at you curious.

You were transfixed on the screen. The novice baker on screen was struggling to keep his monstrosity of a cake upright. It was the annual Halloween episode and this fool went for a Silence of the Lambs inspired cake. A good concept really, but very poorly executed. The fake body parts and sugar blood weighted the pastry down dangerously. If he were, to be frank, the cake was also tacky as hell. Heh, he'd have to try to make this for Lucifer.

"Does his abuse of the piping gun offend you that much?" He jokes wrapping an arm around you.

Your laugh is breathy and lacks its usual warmth. "It is excessive isn't it?" You look up at him. "Hey, Satan-have you ever eaten people before?"

"Uhh…" Great, how eloquent. This came out of nowhere, did Lucifer set you up to this? No-no you wouldn’t. Would you hate him if you knew? “I have.” He admits through clenched teeth waiting for your reaction.

“Didn’t Diavolo ban it?” He can tell you are doing the mental math in your head.

He chuckles dryly. “Well, you never asked if I did it legally.” You move away from his touch and pause the show. “I mean...I did it legally! ” His mouth runs freely, his brain screaming at him to shut up.

“Satan.” You cross your arms unimpressed.

“It was a new law and I never meant to eat it for the most part. It was at a time where I was still struggling to control myself.” Young and stupid as Lucifer had said defending him every step of the way when he would slip up. Was it sold on the black market now? Yes. Did he know how to get it? Sure, but he would never nor would he tell you about it either.

You nod thinking about his words. “I can empathize.” Oh, thank the Devil. “Have you thought of eating me?”Ahhh. “Oh my God, you have.” You chuck a pillow at him with a laugh.

He catches the pillow and clutches it to his fiery hot face. “Everyone did at first!” If he was going down then he was going to take every one of his brothers down with him. “I wasn’t going to act on it! It was a spur of the moment-why are you laughing!”

“Sorry, sorry.” You wipe at the tears in your eyes wishing you had your phone to take a picture of his blushing face. “I kind of figured you did.”

Satan looks at you incredulously. “Shouldn’t you be a bit more torn up over this?”

You shrug. “After everything we’ve been through? I admit it was a shock to think at first but I mean, you would have done it by now right?”

“Well, thank you?” He flops back on the couch, still clutching the pillow to act as a barrier between you two. He’ll take it as a compliment.

You scoot close, nudging his knee with yours. “You ok?” He nods. “Can I touch you?” He nods again eagerly. You wrap your arms around his shoulders and squeeze. “Sorry, I made you uncomfortable.”

Satan chuckled, dropping the pillow to hug you back. “It’s ok.” He peaks your forehead. “Now, with that out of the way. Shall we finish this?” He swipes up his phone to hit play. You nod, flinging your legs over him to snuggle closer. “Good, I’m dying to know how he tries to save that thing. I’m putting money on icing.”

“You know.” You break the silence once more, unable to stop yourself. “I wouldn’t be opposed to being eaten...in some ways.”

Belphegor

After your first *ahem* encounter, he doesn’t bring up the whole food thing. He is afraid that if you learned about it, it would be the last strike for you and his relationship. Perhaps it’s paranoia on his part but better safe than sorry.

In all honesty, he didn’t eat it that much anyway. Killing humans was something he did often in his youth as a demon. A stupid attempt at revenge on his part. It filled the holes in his hearts to hurt those he believed killed his sister.

But to eat their flesh? Disgusting. He tried it a few times and it turned his stomach with every mouthful. He just hated them too much to even stomach them. He’s mellowed out with time but still never got a taste for it.

When you asked it was a shock but welcomed in a way. Like he could finally get this weight off his shoulders every time he looked at you.

Mini Fic

“It’s gross.” Belphie yawns, jumping up to sit on the high garden wall. He bends down to help you up placing you gently next to himself. The wind catches you by surprise threatening to topple you back from the wall before he rights you. He tosses his sweater over you with a nod of satisfaction.

You snuggle into the fleece lining burying your nose into the fabric. It smelled of elderberries and honeysuckles. Belphie watches you curl up into his side with a fond smile. “Seriously, you all are nasty.”

“Ouch!” You push his shoulder with a grin. “I feel like I should be offended on behalf of all humans.”

Belphie snorts, looking up into the bright colors of the night sky. “Good. Be offended. You, humans, are slimy.” You squawk indignantly. “It’s true, never in all my years would I willingly ingest it.” He shudders theatrically.

“Rude.”

“Shouldn’t you be happy? Lest I eat you?” He growls playfully, taking a swipe at you. He pulls you close to kiss the pout off your face. He stops only when your face is hot and your smile threatens to pull a muscle. “I’ll keep you safe, always.” He vows resting his chin on your head.

“Do you think other demons would try to eat me?”

“Have you met my twin?” He teases. He takes your jab to his ribs with a smile. “But if one of those lesser demons even tries to breathe in your direction I’ll kill them.”

“Ok, Mister sleeps till dinner.” You joke. His vow warms your heart a little, chasing away the small bit of fear that had rested itself in your chest. You saw how some demons looked at you at R.A.D, the longing and hungry looks got to be a bit much sometimes. A few older demons would discuss it loudly when they knew you were close by. Apparently, it was a long standing tradition of demons eating humans both body and soul when a pact was concluded.

Imagine what those brothers would do to them…

You shake your head hugging Belphie closer. You had nothing but his word that he would keep you safe, yet that was enough for you. Besides, he wasn’t one to follow the rules even at the best of times.

“I’m serious. You're off limits for everyone.”

You nod into his shirt, closing your eyes to enjoy the peace of the moment. “I’ll hold you to it.”

Diavolo

It is so far from his mind that when you say something it is like a rug was taken out from under him. He could be diplomatic about it, but you deserve better than a half-truth.

He was a wild child in his youth. Sometimes he would overindulge in his father’s heritage and gorge himself on his newfound powers and privilege. He would dine with the elders and eat with abandon under their proud eyes.

He regrets it now, in your company it brings up a slurry of emotions. Sometimes when he looks at you he sees flashes of his past behavior.

The urge is stronger in him than the brothers, a constant nagging tug in his guts, but he is strong. Stronger both in willpower and sheer physical prowess than them so the pull is more of an annoyance than a burning need. He can temper the hunger in other ways if need be *wink*

He fears what you might think of him if you ever found out the truth, but however you take it he will handle it in stride. He loves you too much not to.

Mini Fic

Dinners, when Diavolo could eat alone, were a rare and special treat. The solace of just being allowed to exist without constantly checking his posture or presentation was a blessing, just him, his thoughts, and a good meal. It was nice to have no paperwork to worry about staining this time or a tedious meeting where he couldn’t savor his meal. No, no this was good. He looks down at his heavily laden plate and smiles. Well, almost… Pulling out his phone he snaps a quick picture and sends it to you with a simple question. Join me?

Private meals were wonderful, but with you, they were perfect.

You arrive faster than he expected, flushed face and clutching a stitch in your side from rushing over. He almost felt bad before he saw the eager look in your eyes. Barbatos helps you with your school bags and coat before placing another plate of food across from the young lord. He winks at the prince before disappearing back through the door.

“Thank you for the invite!” You beam taking your seat across from him. “I hope you don’t mind that I'm not dressed for the occasion. I was just wrapping up a study session with the boys.” You look down at your rumpled lounge clothes.

Diavolo waved his hand disregarding your concerns. “I would emulate you if I had the time.” He looks at his own pressed school uniform. He had another meeting this evening, much to his distaste. “You look rather comfortable.” You smile in delight before tucking into your own plate.

You eat in a comfortable silence reading the room well enough to tell that he wished for some company but not needless chitter-chatter. Barbatos arrived moments after you put your fork down and left with the plate leaving behind a delicious smelling hot drink. You couldn’t put your finger on the flavor but it tastes spicy like cinnamon and coats your throat like warm honey.

Whatever was in the drink seemed to work some magic on the prince. His shoulder droop, his back sinking into the chair as his legs stretch out till they are close to brushing against yours. He starts talking over the drink, eyes slowly lighting up with delight. You drink, nodding along with him as he builds up steam. It was nice to see him so unguarded and light. You listen to him talk about simple innocent topics. You knew how he tried to have these conversations with the others to no avail. The brother’s always tried to stay clear of him, and Lucifer simply dismissed these things most days. Barbatos and the angels were a bit better but still listened mostly to placate him.

“Ah!” Diavolo stops mid-sentence as his door opens once more Barbatos holding a small platter in his gloved hand. Dia claps his hands in delight. “I’ve been wanting to have you try this with me for forever. The human palate is so different, but I hope this is tasty.”

“What is it?” You eye the covered plate curiously.

Dia says a word in infernal. It is harsh and guttural in his throat but his delight was evident in his tone. “It is like...a roasted nut? Sorry, it is difficult to explain but it has been a favorite treat of mine since I was a boy. I hope you like it too.” He opens the lid with little ceremony and tilts the bowl to you. Inside were several golfball sized pods piled on top of each other. Even from across the table you could feel the molten heat radiating from the porous black shell. It looked...ugly. Like a hunk of dried lava. You eye it suspiciously as Diavolo picks one up with his bare hands and bits it. The shell cracks under his sharp teeth, a fang catching in a weak spot with a noise that makes you shiver. Underneath the thick casing, you could see a dark red and fleshy core. He hums in delight pulling put the meat of the seed and discard the shell pieces onto an empty plate. He makes quick work of the innards already reaching for another by the time you casually pick up a seed.

The seed itself was dense and warm to the touch. You squeeze it, noting that the porous coating felt like a mass of steel in your hand. “Dia-how do I open it?” No way you could bite it, not without breaking your jaw in the process.

“Allow me.” He takes it from you and effortlessly cracks it. “It is a tradition to break them with teeth, instead of hands or utensils. Something about a show of strength. I just find it fun.” He shrugs, handing you the broken seed.

“Fun!” You marvel at his pearly fangs. “Those are some big chompers.”

“All the better to eat you with my dear.” He chuckles.

You blink in shock, eyes widening. “Would you? Eat me?”

Diavolo’s smile drops. “No.” He lies on reflex, his political nature kicking in. “No-no wait.” He shakes his head. “I...at a time would have without hesitation.” He feels you recoil. “It was common practice back in the day. To the common demon it was a great meal and for the ruling class a show. He looks down at the broken fragments of shell on his plate. Breaking the shell was far too reminiscent of other things. He squashes the unwanted wave of memories coming up. Instead, he looks up at you.

You sit quietly mulling over his words. You haven’t run yet. “Why did you stop?”

He leans back with a loud exhale. Why did he stop? There were many reasons, none he wished to divulge into at the moment, but he had to say something. “I grew up, and began to resent and regret it.” He used to read human stories of demons and his kind. They hurt their characterizations of him and his people. Yet, they had all been scarily accurate. He wanted to prove that they weren’t stagnating beasts, slaves to their desires. Even if it wasn't a popular opinion.

“I see.” You pick up the seed again. “Thank you for telling me. You didn’t have to.”

“But I wanted to, and to apologize… such admissions must have ruined your appetite. If you wish to retire-”

“Is it weird if it didn’t?” You cut him off. You felt-not apathetic to the knowledge but close to it. It confirmed a lot of things for you and put certain things in perspective. You still felt safe with him even with this new bit of knowledge. Without a second thought, you pop the treat into your mouth. You gasp in delight. The flavor and texture were not what you were expecting, but was delicious all the same. “Can you open another for me?” You push your plate over to him.

“Of course!”

The food was as wonderful as his company.

Barbatos

You knew he cooked it. He probably knows a million different ways to prepare a human. He is also very blunt about his dabblings in the market.

He doesn’t eat it, hasn’t ever. He sees no reason to, especially since he doesn’t need to eat anyway there is no temptation. He did find the meals he created beautiful though.

Once he lived for the praises of the courts and his young lord. He was a master at all mediums he cared to work with. Time, decorum, or of the flesh.

He is 100% unashamed of his past with the dark side of the Devildom’s history. In fact, he is damn near proud of it. He is a demon and it was a part of his life, if that frightens you, well there is nothing he can do about it.

He’ll entertain your questions and will try to put any lingering worries at ease. Just don’t expect to be coddled when he does.

Mini Fic

Barbatos had very few personal pleasures in his life. His schedule simply didn’t have the space for such things. So why even bother looking for a pastime. It wasn’t until Diavolo gifted him with an old worn cookbook did he find it.

Cooking was a necessity for his prince, but with that little book, it became something he looked forward to doing. Slowly, he began to seek them out, filling his growing quarters with cookbooks and loose-leaf slips of paper. He enjoys reading them. Each book was a little time capsule into the cook's life and memories. Could a mix of spices really remind someone of the arid heat of their motherland? Or does following a certain way of aging meat really honor the writer's late grandfather’s memory? He tries them all, each recipe a little invasion to a happier time.

He wrote his fair share of cookbooks too in his day. Simple modifications to things the young lord liked to the odd machinations of his own imagination. He got good at experimenting with flavors and textures over the years, mastering certain cooking techniques and flavors just for fun. He didn’t share many of them, a lot of his recipes were just too complicated for most. Luke was allowed to look at his pastry books only. The little cherub was enamored with his techniques and wanted to learn as much as he could in the short amount of time he was in the Devildom. Admirable, but he made sure to keep some of his...less savory books away from the boy. He shudders to think what Simeon would do if he scarred the young angel.

You are the only one who has full access to his collections. Whether you liked to cook was inconsequential to him. He simply enjoyed sharing this interest with you. Some nights you would take it upon yourself to be his “sous-chef”. Which meant you sat in the corner of the kitchen and read out the ingredients and steps for a recipe he knew by heart. Sometimes you would add in extra steps in an attempt to stump it. Cute...but ultimately failed each time. So, most nights when you tagged along to the kitchens you just flip through his collection, reading his immaculate scribblings crammed into the corners of the pages or where he scratched out certain ingredients for more demon-appropriate foods and more sustainable options.

You had gone through many beautiful books before you found it. The cookbook was small and inconspicuous compared to most. Just a simple black cover with a well-worn spine. What made you take notice of it was just how dusty it was. That wasn’t like him to do. Barbatos would never let something get so dirty. You wished you never had opened it. You weren’t stupid by any means, but after reading a few pretty graphic recipes it had unsettled you. So you withdrew from Barbatos trying to forget about the book tucked away deep in the bowels of your school bag.

“You’ve been distant.” You choke, hand flying up to your chest as you swear your heart skipped a beat. Damn demon. Should put a bell on him. “What’s wrong?” His eyes are piercing, cutting away at your feeble defenses.

“Nothing…” You fiddle with your bag’s strap. Your eyes drop to the floor taking in the differences between his polished shoes and your scuffed boots.

“Of course not…” You could hear the skepticism in his voice. “I trust that if there was something wrong you would feel safe enough to confide in me.” His words hit like a ton of bricks on your shoulders. He sighs seeing that his words got no reaction. “Please?”

Wordlessly you rummage in your bag and thrust the book into his chest. “Sorry. It shook me up more than I thought it would.”

Ah. He knew this book all too well. For a time it had been his favorite, one to pull out with Diavolo had guests or a deal that needed to be sealed. He accepts the book, noting how much your hands shook. “I understand.” He slips the book into his breast pocket making a mental note to hide it in one of his lesser used rooms. “Would you like to discuss this? In my room perhaps?” You follow with a timid nod.

“Where shall we begin?” Barbatos asks the moment he closes the door to his room.

“You don’t seem perturbed.” You frown. Barbatos shrugs, pulling the book out and opening it. He had a lot of good memories stored here. Some of these were still considered signature dishes, oftentimes a visiting dignitary would lament to him about the good old days when he could show off his craft when flesh was plentiful. He takes pride in that still to this day even. For as much as he loved you, he would not be ashamed of this.

“I didn’t mean it like that.” You shake your head when he says as much. “It just confused me. Do-do you see me as food?”

“I never saw humans as food, no more than I see demons or angels as it.” He picks at an imaginary bit of lent from his pant leg. “As for seeing you as food no. No matter how sweet your lips are, or how honeyed your words can be.” He smiles, taking impish delight in your squirming. “I merely did my job as a butler for my lord.”

“Oh- sorry for not coming to you sooner.” You felt foolish now. Barbatos waves it off, pleased to have this issue put aside so quickly and cleanly. “Wait-" You gasp as his words finally sink in. “Have you prepared angels before?”

He flashes you a mischievous smile putting a single finger up to his lips. “Perhaps~ do you wish to read that too?”

[woman-of-culture]

The traitor (1/2)

Dabi x reader

Part 2

Warnings: Dabis identity, 3rd year age up, this does not accurately follow the plot when it comes to timing and character introduction, (most likely) a lot of grammatical errors

This is gonna be a 2 part story with the smut in the 2nd part! (Not to mention it’s gonna be much longer)

The semester is finally over! No more assignments and no more work so I present to you my first ever fanfiction. Hope you enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it.

Words: 3,056

The League of villains might not have the best plans. Sometimes, they're poorly thought out, other times... Again, not all that effective.

From their poor managing skills to the attack on USJ where they consequentially lost the perfect nomu, their planning could use ‘some’ work. The leader, Shigaraki, being quite immature for his position, executed his plans prematurely and without much thought - oftentimes underestimating his opponents (even if they were just high school first years). Saying he has a ways to go from being the perfect leader would be an understatement.

But no matter how much you complain, you can’t ignore the fact that he’s also a valiant leader who fights for what he thinks is right, even if he does need some help along the way. That’s where you come in, being Shigarakis right hand (wo)man, alongside Kurogiri, wasn’t an easy job. Having to deal with his temper tantrums, being forced to execute a plan you didn’t 100% agree with and having your advice ignored completely most of the time wasn’t exactly what you thought joining The League of Villains would be like, but eh, nothing ever goes the way you want it to.

Which is exactly what led to this situation.

"So let me get this straight..." You say, whilst letting out an exasperated sigh "You want to kidnap and persuade, of all people, Bakugou Katsuki to turn on his dream of becoming a hero just because you've seen him compete in the sports festival?"

Not really getting your point, Shigaraki just nods with an assertive "Yes"

"No" You turn your back on him, disappointed he would even suggest this thought.

Narrowing his eyes, as if to challenge any further refusal on your part, he demands to know why you so vehemently refuse the suggestion of your next big mission.

Not at all wavering with your determination, you look him in the eyes, practically begging for him to understand how fruitless this endeavor would be.

"He might act...villainous when facing certain confrontation but he is solely focused on becoming the number one pro hero one day, it would take a hell of a lot more than just kidnapping and talking for him to turn his back on that dream. He’s determined, passionate and has a real fighting spirit. I believe if you really want him to join you need to break his spirit in some way, target him when he’s at his lowest"

Contemplating your words for merely a second he decided against listening to reason on the ground ‘It’s the perfect next move for the League to cause distrust among society, even if he refuses there will be chaos from the fact that we managed to capture a UA student whilst on a training camp.’”

Seeing no point in arguing further, you declare that you will have no part in this plan since:

1) You truly believe this will end up a failure

2) You are a student participating in the training camp and your involvement would be too risky

"Goddamn it, I knew I shouldn't have told you where the training camp will be held..." You mutter under your breath, as you look to Kurogiri, who has been silent during that whole argument, to open a portal to your apartment.

Exhausted and in need of some food, you trudge your way up to the small apartment you've called home ever since AFO took you in 4 years ago.

It was a small one bedroom apartment fit for one person, certainly better than the streets you've come to know so well during your years of desperation and homelessness.

A sigh of relief escaping once you managed to close your door and take off your shoes.

"Good evening doll."

"Good evening burnt rat, who I specifically warned not to come here anymore."

He winced, as if the comment actually hurt his feelings. "Ouch, why the sour attitude sweetheart?" Walking up to the couch, glaring at your ‘guest’ who had decided to make himself at home despite your warnings of dumping his body in the nearest ditch.

“You tell me Dabi, why in the world would you continue coming here after all my threats and the fact UA is 5 minutes from here?” “Isn’t it obvious? Despite your constant nagging, you never kick me out, you have a pretty fucking nice TV and not to mention you’re a decent cook.”

Ah, Dabi...one of the newest members of the League who joined not even 2 weeks ago. He’s a peculiar guy who comes to raid your fridge and annoy the shit out of you every other day, refusing to leave until the next morning to go God knows where. When it comes to the topic of kicking him out...you never seem to find the will to do so, whether it be the crippling loneliness forcing you to get some form of social interaction or the fact you find his company kinda enjoyable. Of course, you wouldn’t admit either to anyone even if it costs you your life.

You look at his form lounging on the couch in his pants and pale gray, scoop-neck shirt. “So, I’m guessing you ate my dinner again...?” You picked up his dark blue jacket that was lazily tossed onto the back of the sofa and made your way to the front door in order to hang it, just then noticing the dark dress shoes placed haphazardly next to the shoe rack.

With a sly wink sent your way he confirms he ate the tempura you prepared that afternoon. “But you know what? Could you be a sweetheart and make some more food? It was just so delicious but unfortunately not all that filling.” He asked, hoping flattery will get him some more food.

Looking into the fridge you could physically feel a headache coming when you confirm no tempura in sight. You would feel more frustrated if a brilliant idea didn’t come up that second. “Listen Dabi, let’s make a deal.” You turn the corner, ready to give him an ultimatum. “Oh? Where is this going? In exchange for some of your cooking I’d eat something else out first?” He tries to guess, suggestively lifting one eyebrow whilst crossing his arms at the back of his head.

Stopping in your tracks, you look at him speechless, the blood rushing to your cheeks undeniably creating a faint pink blush.”W-what!? No, you asshole! T-tomorrow are final exams so I wanted to suggest you spar with me and after I’d cook anything you want.” In what little time you knew Dabi, that was the first suggestive comment he has made towards you, breaking your thoughts for a hot second - enough to make you stutter during your protest.

Looking proud with the pink he managed to conjure on your cheeks, he closed his eyes with a smirk on his mismatched, pale-burnt lips. “Don’t know ‘bout that doll, sounds like too much work and I’ve had a long day.” He groans to emphasize his point.

“Ok then, starve”

...

“Well, actually-...”

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The next day, during the practical exam, you ended up with Jirou against Present Mic (I’m sorry Koji but plot) which you managed to win with ease considering Dabi helped you strategize. Not to mention he gave you tips on how to improve your quirk which you implemented in the battle only to end up victorious. You’d probably need to thank him later.

Whilst reminiscing on the event, Aizawa enters into the classroom informing that no one will be left out of the training camp, but the ones who failed will receive harsher training. He gave out lodge guides and all the information needed (which you of course knew thanks to sneaking into the teachers lounge after hours) Everyone also decided to go on a shopping trip to buy the necessary things for the trip, with the exceptions of you, Bakugou and Todoroki.

Worrying about the events that will transpire did you no good so you contently walked home thinking of going to the store for some ingredients in case a certain uninvited guest decided to show up again.

Thinking about what will inevitably happen reminded you of the fact you haven’t visited the bar since your little disagreement with Shigaraki. ‘I guess I can’t blame him, even if Bakugou doesn’t join it will still provoke some fear and distrust among the general public, I guess I should apologize to him...’

-------------------------------------------------- 

“TOMURA!” The bar rattles with the impact of the door against the wall, barely keeping itself on it’s hinges after the kind of force you used. The people inside the bar looking at you with mixed emotions, some shocked, some indifferent and some enjoying the drama. Spinner, Toga, Dabi, Magne and Kurogiri silently looking at you for answers to their unanswered questions while Shigaraki looks at you completely shocked for he has not yet seen such an outburst from you.

“Wasn’t this supposed to be your plan? How careless can you be? In order for a stunt like this to succeed you’d need to be extra careful and methodical. Yet, what do you do? You confront Midoriya at the mall as if it wouldn’t have consequences”

“Oh, that’s all?” He returns to his planning as if you didn’t almost break down the door.

“What do you mean ‘that’s all’? Do you understand how irresponsible that was, you could have gotten caught! The whole mall was swarming with police officers literally 5 minutes after your little ‘chat’.”

“They wouldn’t have caught me even if they showed up that instant, if you used your brain you would remember that Kurogiri could just teleport me out.” Scratching his neck, clearly done with this conversation, he turned to walk away to get some quiet to finalize the plan in peace.

“You don’t get it do you? Aizawa announced the camp will not be held in the forest lodge it’s usually held every year because of this ‘incident’.” You explain taking a step to his form that stopped walking the moment those words left your lips. He turned, the scratching getting more violent by the second. “Well, where is it then?”

You don’t want to admit it but the way he looked at you, as if it was your fault the camp relocated, sent a chill down your spine. “I don’t know, the new location won’t be revealed until we get there.”

“Then you’ll send your location the moment you get there, is that so hard?” You felt your anger and frustration bubble the moment he dismissed the problem as if it were nothing, however you continued your calm-ish facade. “Tomura, I’m begging you to understand! With this there are a lot more unknown variables. You won’t have time to prepare, to get to know the layout, the schedule, anything! You’ll be going in there blind, this is definitely not a safe plan for the members. What if some of them get caught? What if-...”

You weren’t even able to finish the rest of your concern before he yelled out for you to shut up, that it was none of your concern since you weren’t apart of this mission. “We will simply have Dabi burn down half of the woods so they won’t know what’s going on, the rest only concerns the participants of this plan which, again, you are NOT, now LEAVE!”

You looked Tomura in the eyes, tears welling up in yours due to the sheer frustration of the situation. Did your opinion really mean so little to the man? You wanted nothing more than the success of the League, to fulfill your debt to AFO for saving you so many years ago. Sometimes staying up past 3 AM helping with whatever you could just because you felt as if the League really needed you. Were you really so useless to the man before you, who you would consider a dear friend, family? He ignored your advice, existence even, except when he needed insider information. You were quiet most of the time, rarely giving resistance to the point your bottled up feeling reached their limits. You lifted your head, a single tear making its way down your face as you uttered your next words.

“I will send you the location, I will figure out the schedule, I will inform you on everyone's position during the attack but just know this Tomura, your carelessness will shoot you down from that pedestal you made for yourself. You’re childish, immature, naive and juvenile. If you continue thinking you can do all of this alone it’s gonna cost you your life, the members lives, masters life-...”

That was the trigger...the last straw that finally diminished his last nerve. Lunging at you with all five fingers ready to disintegrate your arm as a form of cruel punishment. It was like slow motion, not really thinking of this outcome proved to be your downfall as you could only watch his hand getting closer.

20 centimeters...

10 centimeters...

5....

Oh fuck...

As if God heard your prayers, an arm found it’s way around your waist, pulling you to a lean, muscular chest while the other grabbed Shigarakis, pulling it away from your form and pressing his hand, that was moments away from your trembling arm, onto the counter, decaying a part of the wood until there was nothing but dust left.

The shock of the situation being felt all around the room. You didn’t fully process the severity of the event until Dabi let out a low growl, ready to use his quirk if need be. Looking up his face, situated not even 5 cm away from your own, you saw the burning fire behind his glare directed at Shigaraki, a threat, daring him to move a single finger in your direction.

In any other situation you’d pull his arm off, threatening to cut it off. However, this wasn’t any other situation. His warmth providing a sense of security you’ve never felt before, making you wish it could stay there just a minute longer. His natural musk invading your senses, calming your pounding heart to the point you almost forgot the predicament you got yourself into.

All too soon, he let go of you only to pull you behind his back with his arm stretched to the side, blocking the view of your leader with his back. Relieved, angry, confused, terrified... You couldn’t exactly categorize your feelings, the information not fully processed in your mind. You grabbed onto the back of his jacket as a means to get closer to him, scrunching it between your fingers to keep him where he is.

Whilst this was going on, Shigaraki looked at his hand, eyes wide open. For a few seconds he couldn’t fathom what he just tried to do. He looked at your form, cowering behind Dabi who only glared daggers at him silently questioning his actions.

“Out.” was the only word able to come out of his throat, not knowing how to deal with the consequences of the previous moment.

Not needing to be told twice, you ran out of the bar as fast as your legs could take you. Stumbling on your own feet, chest heaving and vision blurry you didn’t notice the set of footsteps following behind you until a hand reached out stopping you in your tracks. You panicked, kicking at your assailant in an attempt to get free.

“Calm down, would ya? It’s only me...” Turning around, to face what you had correctly presumed to be Dabi, you lunged out of his grasp narrowly missing the wall behind you.

“Why did you do that?”  “What do you mean why?” He looked at you, not understanding the point of the question. “I mean... Why did you jump in to defend me? This was between me and him. Don’t get me wrong I more than appreciate your help but why... You ran the risk of a fight, not to mention injury, just because i provoked him.” You said, your gaze following the trail of his body further down till you reached his black shoes.

He scoffed, as if you just uttered the stupidest sentence he has ever heard. “Provoked? What you did in there proved you have some serious balls. You pointed out the flaws in the plan and confronted hand-job about them. You prioritized every ones safety over some mission and even put yourself at risk by ultimately agreeing to the plan and sending vital information that will be used.” He took a step forward, lifting your head between his index and thumb caressing your cheek along the way to hopefully calm you some more if his words didn’t help.

“That being said, you should still have some faith in us, well, in me specifically.” He smirked noticing the corner of your lips twitch up at his comment. “I’ll burn down every obstacle, every hero that comes in my way so you won’t have to worry so much.” Finally, pressing his forehead to your own he managed to fully calm your nerves, unintentionally, you also synced up your breathing to match his.

You looked at his beautiful teal colored eyes unable to focus on any of your surroundings ‘Were his eyes always so mesmerizing?’ You felt your eyelids droop almost closing them by the time he took your hand in his and started to lead you down the road. “H-huh? Wait, where are we going?” “We’re going to your apartment to eat something and sleep, perhaps watch a movie to forget today.”

You look at the man in front of you, his coat waving with the wind to make the moment just that much more special. Has he always been like this? He actually made the effort to defend you, to run after you when you thought nobody cared. He assured you that what you did was the right thing and plans to make you forget what happened today. Did you finally have someone that cared for you?

“Yeah, sounds good”

(A/N This was my first ever attempt at writing so I hope I didn’t flunk it TOO bad. And I’m not all that satisfied with this but eh... I feel bad for having to cut it short, but I actually got requests to do more stories and I’m bad at multitasking so I’m terribly sorry for the precious users that sent me requests and the readers that want a part 2, maybe)

[fistsoflightning]

lingering fears

there are simply some things that never truly disappear.

                          gatheredfates’ [30 day WOL challenge] | prompt: tomorrow

if anything this is my Peak Bullshit, if i had to pick out one fic that was the Top of my Bullshit. also, thank you to @to-the-voiceless​ for letting me subject haruki to this silly lilycat? he’s a Mess? anyways! slice of life content go!

a’dewah had waved syhrwyda and duscha goodnight from the floor of the basement library when the chronometer hanging delicately above elwin’s forge had read two bells to midnight, the golden bells chiming in time with syhrwyda’s little laugh. it was only slightly past when he usually retired for the night, so they hadn’t looked too closely into the fading darkness to a’dewah’s expression, playfully teasing him for being such a bookworm despite being the only two sharlayan scholars in the house.

(in hindsight, he probably should have asked one of them to stay, considering how his mind oh so loved to wander in the dark, stumbling upon landmines of memories until a’dewah finds his hands shaking hard enough to make turning on the miniature orchestrion beside him difficult.)

so when haruki stumbles headfirst into the walls separating the library and sitting room from the occupied bedrooms looking like an owl, a’dewah finds that the chronometer reads four bells past midnight. he’s clutching one of a’dewah’s pillows, the cloudsilk cover bunched up beneath his fingers as haruki rubs his eyes, squinting past the gentle blue light of the floral lamp after regaining his bearings.

“dewah, what’re you doing up? was about to go ask duscha if he’d seen you,” haruki mumbles, poorly stifling a yawn into his pillow. not the smartest of plans, really; duscha was much more of a fluffy, unshakeable cushion this late at night, and even all of haruki’s (currently missing) energy would have failed to rouse duscha from his spot among the comatose.

a’dewah can’t find the heart to tell him i had a nightmare where you detested me and i didn’t want to wake you over it, so instead he says, “i figured out what the problem with the… the enchantments i was testing earlier was, and i didn’t want to forget it, so i—” he makes a wide sweeping motion to the mess of books and parchment in front of him. “—er, have this mess now. it’s kept me awake.” it’s not so much a lie as it is a half-truth (he really did figure out how to enchant the new flowers he’d grown upon his return from the first in a last ditch effort to stay awake), but something in his stomach drops anyways, guilt feeding into his already spiraling control.

he makes some noise of ambivalent agreement—a mumbled ‘mhm’ of sorts—and steps over a’dewah’s fortress of tomes and scrolls to the clear spot beside him. a’dewah’s pillow looks… well, a little strangled, but otherwise haruki seems alright, leaving a’dewah wondering just when he woke up. haruki had convinced him to take a “nap” late that afternoon, so it wasn’t unreasonable for him to be awake… but it couldn’t stop him from worrying, now could it.

as soon as haruki gets himself situated by a’dewah’s side, he leans in, grabs a’dewah’s hand (that is currently clenched and resting on top of a small drawing), squints carefully at a’dewah’s face, and calmly says, “you’re lying.”

his ears absolutely do not flatten at that. “what—how—ruki, are you sure you—you’re completely awake?”

“yep, sure am,” haruki yawns, which is a sure sign that he’s an absolute liar if not for the strength of his grip around a’dewah’s clenched hand. “you probably don’t notice, but… well, you can’t see it, but here—” haruki reaches over with his free hand to poke lightly at the corner of his right eye, tracing down his lower eyelid to where the small scar sits perfectly vertical over it. “—whenever you lie, it kinda twitches and tenses up. plus; you start to stammer, which is both cute and your biggest nervous habit.”

“i—that’s.” a’dewah blankly stares into the slowly blurring parchment still in his lap while haruki yawns yet again (really, he should have just kept sleeping, especially since he and mune were going to see the moonfire faire fireworks in a few suns), because how was he on par with elwin on catching tells and his stammering is cute and it’s incredibly dark does he have some sort of night vision—

at some point during his slow descent into anxious madness, haruki had scooted over from a’dewah’s side to right behind him, one arm wriggling under his and the other over his shoulder, holding him firmly in place as haruki carefully nuzzles his horn next to a’dewah’s torn ear. the motion is so filled with reassurance, kindness, love that a’dewah stops thinking enough to melt into haruki’s chest, but not enough to stop him from jamming whatever semblance of purring was climbing up his throat back down. he is not prepared for the teasing that will come out of that, not this late at night… or early in the morning.

“there’s the soft, relaxed you,” haruki mumbles quietly, his face close enough to a’dewah’s ears to be clear despite the soft tone. “you were so tense i thought you might strain something. now that you’re not, though, d’you mind…”

“if you’re sure you want to hear it,” a’dewah sighs. resisting the urge to curl into himself is only second in difficulty to not feeling utterly sick by what he readies himself to say. “it’s just a silly nightmare, really; we were sitting in the one garden, k-kinda like this, just talking. it was nice until dream-you started to—he said things that weren’t really… well, you, like that you hated me and—and you n-ne…”

he finds himself just short on courage to say you never loved me because how selfish and hurtful would that be, to tell someone who loves you so much that they’d come looking for you in the middle of the night that the twisted, broken, and scared part of you was convinced you hated them? to say that you couldn’t trust them with your heart because they might actually break it even if that isn’t who they are at all? haruki would never say that, not for a joke and never for real; he’d somehow kept loving a’dewah even after all the waiting and worrying he was subjected to.

but, his mind whispers traitorously as haruki inhales slowly by his ear. a’dewah screws his eyes shut, letting his back tense up again as one of haruki’s arms moves to cradle his cheek. just because he wouldn’t now doesn’t mean he couldn’t later and what if he’s just tricking you like all—

“hey,” haruki says, knocking a’dewah from whatever number thought spiral this was of the night when he turns a’dewah’s head to meet his eyes. “breathe, sunshine; i’ve known you long enough to remember when your hair turned white. i don’t think i could hate you for being afraid.”

“s-sure,” a’dewah says, even if he doesn’t fully believe it and it sounds like he’s lying again. he breathes anyways, broken heart strangling itself inside his chest as he nearly chokes on air.

haruki’s eyes scrunch up at the corners in pity as he somehow pulls a’dewah closer, thumb tracing up his cheek to wipe just under a’dewah’s burning eyes and oh gods he’s crying isn’t he why is he like this. he nearly pulls out of haruki’s touch to curl up into the smallest ball he can, but haruki leans forward first, tilting his head carefully so he doesn’t gore a’dewah on his horns.

“i’ll love you today—” haruki presses a kiss to a’dewah’s forehead. “ —and tomorrow—” a second, on the bridge of his nose. “ —and tomorrow—” a third on the scar trailing down his cheek and a’dewah pushes him away this time to bury his face in his hands since he can already feel the flush spreading across his face.

“ruki, that’s just…” he trails off, still being peppered with kisses in his hair, because of course he’d know just what was haunting him. his eyes are still screwed shut and hot but his heart feels full and stong, untwisting itself under “you shouldn’t have to reassure me all the time but—how are you so…so—” kind, caring, observant, bold—

a’dewah stops stammering in time to sneeze; a quiet thing, drowned out under the soft hum of the miniature orchestrion playing next to them, but with haruki’s arms wrapped around his chest and the way his ears had shot back up in surprise…  

honestly, he should have expected haruki’s reaction.

“i—ruki i wasn’t done writing—don’t knock over that pile, those are dusch— wait put me down!”

“nope! now that we’ve cleared that up, time for bed,” haruki says triumphantly, his energy finally regained from cuddling as if that were a proper form of rest. before he knows it, haruki’s cradling his legs and back atop the pillow he’d dragged from a’dewah’s bedroom and swiftly picking him up before he can even try to stop his absolute menace of a boyfriend. “and this time, no leaving—wake me up next time dream-me is all weird, okay?”

“...mhm, but—the books and the parchment and the orchestrion—”

“whoever wakes up first can deal with the orchestrion, and the mess won’t go anywhere, sunshine. i’ll help you clean up, tomorrow.” haruki shifts his arm to put a hand on a’dewah’s head, fingers running over his ear in a soothing scratch. he says tomorrow like a promise, so warm and sure that a’dewah stops fighting back, content to let the drowsiness he’s been warding off catch up as haruki quietly walks back to a’dewah’s room.

he must have been more tired from gardening yesterday than he thought; he barely reacts when haruki gently rolls him off the pillow into bed, nor when he’s jostled around to be lying on top of haruki instead of the bed, a blanket wrapped around his waist. honestly, he really should go clean off his facepaint, but the warmth of the blanket and haruki’s arms combined make the executive decision to stay here before his brain catches up.

he does, however, escape sleep long enough to talk, especially since one thing is still bothering him. “hey, ruki?”

“...something still up?” haruki yawns into his fist, and from here a’dewah can see the dark circles beginning under his eyes. gods, he hoped he didn’t keep him awake and that it’d only been a few short minutes since haruki came and found him.

“i was thinking… why did you come look for me? it’s the middle of the night.” or too early for the morning, but that was all perspective.

“i thought…” haruki pauses, and his next breath comes out as a resigned sigh. “i thought you left—farther than i could follow, kind of left.”

a’dewah’s breath catches, if only a bit, since that was a turn of phrase sometimes reserved for the dead. he knows he couldn’t have gone and died in a single night, but the thought of leaving haruki wondering if a’dewah was even alive makes his stomach turn; they’d both already had their fair share of dead family for a lifetime.

haruki resumes tracing idle patterns into a’dewah’s back without really waiting for any response as a’dewah quietly remembers that, well, he did leave haruki without a word for over a year and then told him he didn’t have any grasp on when, how, or if he’d be coming back. that alone would be enough to send him into a fit, so… maybe he wasn’t the only one with nightmares, between the two of them.

“never again, not if i can help it,” a’dewah promises in whispers, as if the gods were listening and if they heard would do everything to prove him wrong. he’ll fight hydaelyn if it means keeping it, sacrilege be damned. “you’ll just, well, have to wait a few moons before you can safely follow me, since…”

“garlemald, right,” haruki says with a crescent-moon grin, his eyes warm and glowing with golden light, as if he were staring right at the sun falling past the horizon and the sunlight was smiling back. belatedly, a’dewah realizes that haruki is staring right at his face, which in any other circumstance wouldn’t be such a problem but he just compared himself to the sun like who would honestly do that—

he pulls the throw blanket over his head, curls a bit into himself and squeaks out, “g’night ruki love you!”

“love you more, dewah.”  haruki whispers back, even though his warm chuckle and a hand combing through his hair is more than enough of a response. he doesn’t even try to pull the blanket from his head, merely closing his eyes and drifting off. his hands don’t move from where they’re rested under a’dewah’s cardigan, warmth defined and seeping through the thin shirt like a soft brand.

once a’dewah’s fairly certain that haruki’s fully asleep, he shifts around enough so he can twine his tail carefully around haruki’s, finally letting sleep take him while he prays that he wakes up first tomorrow.

[phoebehalliwell]

I love to read ur little essays so... tell us more about storylines in the show you would definitely develop more and about those arcs you would definitely cut off. thanks!

well i definitely love to write this lil essays so i’m glad y’all enjoy reading them! also this got really long but isn’t that what always happens?

storylines i would want to see:

i’ve said it before and i’ll say it again, they should have developed phoebe’s murder power on screen (i believe on the wiki it’s called “psychic reflection,” i tend to call it “empathic flood” or, if i’m feel less professional, deep frying someone’s brain). coming off the tails of a season four / season five phoebe in which her worst fear was genuinely being evil at her core and then giving her a power that she knows she has used to kill ooh the struggle in morality would have been so interesting to watch

while i’m on the topic of phoebe: her relationship with coop should have gotten so much more. the show got so bogged down with cole in season five even after they very much established that phoebe wasn’t going to come back to him (granted i did find batshit crazy cole really fun and “y tu mummy tambien” was a great episode for him from a comedic standpoint). i believe i’ve said before that i think the best introduction for coop would actually be in that episode as it very much feature phoebe actively dodging / swearing off love. like, to have him be just like any other cupid out and about in san francisco, see her, try to set her up with someone and she completely blows him off and coop’s never wrong but hey maybe this time he was wrong so he sets phoebe up for love again and she dodges it again and he’s like alright third time’s the charm works all of his lil cupid magic and it Still Doesn’t Work so he actually manifest in front of phoebe like hi hello nice to meet you that guy was perfect Do You Know how much effort i put into getting you this little meet cute and you just Throw It Away??? and to have phoebe completely not be game to his matchmaking antics but he just keeps trying and she just keeps having meet cutes and its now like a thing where her barista writes his number on her napkin and then she goes to drink her latte and coop’s at the table and she’s like no, he’s a libra i don’t do libras and coops like !!!! with obviously it developing into the whole phoebe keeps rejecting every man coop find for her because she now has feelings for him bc he’s the only man who has like every really wanting to know her and wanted her to be truly happy and he is willing to fihgt for her happiness you know the rest (actually you don’t wyatt Does Not show up with his uncle coop nonsense we do forbidden love good and proper)

also in relationship storylines: ideally henry would have more than eleven episodes to meet paige fall in love marry her and start a whole ass family but no such luck

Also In Relationships: chris and bianca. but mainly bianca. they introduced a full new subspecies of witch who are completely amoral and it just never comes up again??? guys????? i don’t care too much to learn about the dark future but i do really want the 411 on chris and bianca’s relationship like was bianca sent to kill him but she made a different call? did they start off allies and then evil wyatt sought her allegiance? who do the rest of the phoenixes stand with in this future? how long were they dating? was it some big moment that made chris want to propose to her? or was it more of a slow burn they had been allies for years and they realized that their movements were so settled into one another that there was no one else chris would ever want to wake up besides like give me details please

storylines that they really shouldn’t have gone with:

this first one is less of a they shouldn’t have gone with it and more of a they should have exercised moderation with paige’s violent pendulum between quitting her job to be superwitch in season five to wanting a life completely separate from magic in season six. there are ways to reason with the characterization but the execution was just sloppy

another bit of a minor Don’t Do That: piper and leo’s broken marriage. i don’t have too much issue with the whole marriage counselling thing i do think that was good even if the episode’s around it weren’t necessarily great i believe it is important to show that in media so that’s not my beef. my beef is that in almost every alternate plane, piper and leo’s relationship failed. past life 1920s? she chose dan over him. future life 2009? they’re divorced. au paige died? that’s an ix-nay on their relationship too. the alternate dark future is really up to interpretation as it’s implied there’s no melinda it’s likely to say things aren’t too hot for them in that timeline too. also the whole avatars plotline but whatever because here’s the thing. if you have a relationship that is like earthshatter moves heaven and hell with your love for one another, which it is state like multiple times that that’s what they have, it shouldn’t fail in every other reality. personally, i think the writers did that because they wanted ~relationship drama~ or whatever but like you can still do that and have their love remain a really core, grounded, pure thing (the courtship of wyatt’s father, vaya con leos)

now for an actual storyline storyline that should have been cut: baby crazy phoebe. need i say more?

but like while we’re on the topic: the avatars? it wasn’t great. they were like a villain, but they weren’t like evil, they also brought in kyle who was also like not a villain but like was evil, it was a bit of a mess. that and the whole debate of free will? i genuinely am not throwing shade but this show isn’t smart enough to be debating what is free will y’know like no one tunes into charmed to contemplate existence itself this isn’t westworld i don’t want to leave an episode questioning my own reality (and also while i’m on the subject the show yammers on about destiny and fate a lot to also take the stance of we all have free will, but like i could talk about the minutia of that for like A While and i don’t want to get into it right now)

oh also billie and christy. i almost forgot to add them bc quite frankly, i forget that plotline a lot. the way billie was written felt like a dollar store buffy and the was christy was written was genuinely too poorly written to even warrant a personality. it’s clear that they wanted new blood to try to do a spin off but it landed so flat man it felt like such an afterthought. the whole idea of an “ultimate power” was also weaksauce

[ohjaimelannister]

your post re: whether hopper’s actually dead gave me a little hope it was literally so painful for me that i cried for 30 minutes straight

You mean THIS post???

I feel you anon. I feel you. I sobbed for three days over it before my brain kicked in and I started putting it together.

BUT.

Whats this?! Is it hope part two? You're god damn right it is, buckle in. I just posted an update on the numbers sitch so dont worry Im keeping a close eye on that one for us all.

HOWEVER. THERE IS NOW MORE.

Well circle back around to the plot clues in a minute, but lets talk about our lord and savior David K Harbour for a sec.

Way back when shooting season three was over he posted this :

(Of course we now sorta now who Gary is) But at the time this was confusing as hell. Now, he interestingly uses the phrase “while im away” and of course this could just be end of shooting speak. But given what we now know and suspect. WELL.

Now a couple more things I've noticed in the last few days :

A parallel for example, Hopper and Joyce (Americans) take Alexei prisoner (a Russian), Hopper is of course as I mentioned before called ‘The American’ by the Russians and at the end the Russians have a prisoner they call ‘the American’????? SUBTLE.

Jopper has to be endgame? Not a fact I know but. ITS UNFINISHED BUSINESS. Think about the similarities. Both Joyce and Hopper are hot messes when we first meet them, Hopper is just generally a mess anyway because he refuses to deal with his issues and Joyce because she's lost her son. They work together to find Will and enter danger together to SAVE HIM. They continue to work together to protect him and the other kids and along the way they each find a friend and someone to confide in about kids/the nightmares they face. Cute and good story telling right? Of course it comes to a weird head in Season 3 because Hoppers finally accepted he has feelings for this tiny woman who yells at dangerous men twice her size and shes not quite over the fact that her boyfriend died in front of her, and feeling a bit weird over the fact she has feelings for Hopper. Which obviously is also complicated by the fear of him possibly dying on her too. Feels entangle, arguments happen instead of discussions that would clear everything up (like I see what they were trying to do with Jopper/Hopper this season but it was very poorly executed, by the writers, and was a tad uncomfortable at times) and then we get to that moment where she FINALLY accepts it, takes a leap and they make a date and we all go “AWW YAS”. Then the unthinkable happens and she not only has to switch the lever off that ‘kills’ him but have the man she loves die AGAIN? Yikes. Epically bad storytelling and repetitive if he's actually dead am I right? Build it all from Season 1 in an intense dangerous setting where their relationship is so carefully subtle and built???? Nah. This aint Game of Thrones  If we know one thing about Joyce Byers its her non acceptance of things. This is just another hurdle for them to get over, finding him, saving him, pulling him out of yet another dark cave. Because in Hoppers storyline that's her function along with Elevens : TO BE HIS GOD DAMN SAVIOR IN ALL THEIR GLORY (and he knows this about these women, theyre strong, theyre infallible, they get.shit.done. Hence why he loves them.)

Speaking of the ‘dark cave’ reference and Eleven, prisons are dark are they not????? The Upside Down is dark is not??????? Both of which can shut off your emotions and make you feel alone, in the dark and like nothing is worth a damn - rather like Hopper was at the beginning of the show before Eleven and Joyce came into his life and pulled him out of that cave. Theyre gonna have to do it again just literally now. Eleven will play a part in locating him if not saving him from this new cave her god damn self. (when she gets the powers back obv)

And if my original post does nothing to convince you, or the numbers game David seems to be playing, or these examples then maybe this will help :

Someone posted THIS on reddit. Its a still of a BTS video from Stranger Things sets. (The full videos here so you can watch it for yourselves) here you go :

It BTS from Will Byers bedroom (we know he loves to draw already and his drawings have been very helpful and predicty in the past) and he seems to have drawn a prisoner?????? Who looks suspiciously like Hopper??? (The quality of it is better on Reddit so please go look there) But you can see literal markings on the prison uniform that look like 403- X. And someone trying to free him???? This video was posted on 4th July, the day that Season 3 dropped before anyone says that its an old video. MAKE OF THIS WHAT YOU GOD DAMN WILL.

Also Gaten says in this video "It's decorated for Christmas for reasons I don't know why” or something. Mike says Will and El should come back for Christmas. Either meaning depending on how much of a gap they wanna leave this time, Hoppers gonna be in that prison for at least 5/6 months. Hence Davids GIANT beard.

If you dont believe me that our emotional support chief isnt dead now, theres literally nothing more I can do to help you.

I FEEL JIM HOPPER IN THIS RUSSIAN PRISON TONIGHT!!!!!!!!!

[postapocalyptic-narnia]

Any Way the Wind Blows

Chapter 5, Part 3 Word count: 1078

time 11:11 His hands still curled loosely around the handlebars when he woke up. He’d slumped against Aravis, the rise and fall of her breathing rocking him like a boat in harbor. It felt so natural that it took a drowsy moment before he realized that he was slumped against Aravis-- his chin over her shoulder, his cheek to her pulse, his heart beating against her shoulder blade, fit together like gears that had been nudged into the right place.

“Are you awake?” she whispered, straightening. He pulled himself upright, face burning. 

“Uh-huh.” He couldn’t name the feeling fluttering in his lungs. Not fear, not exhaustion-- something light and fizzy as seafoam. He didn’t know if he wanted to meet her eyes. He was intensely grateful she didn’t see how his face fell when she scooted forward immediately, cool morning air stealing the scorching heat from the space that opened between them. “How long was I asleep?” Why didn’t you shake me off? Did you notice that we fit together like puzzle pieces? He swallowed every stupid question that begged to be asked. He knew-- they both knew-- this would end the moment they reached safety, whatever this was.

“A few hours,” she said, nodding at the road ahead. The sky was bright, but his sleep-blurred eyes turned everything soft. They banked a curve and she leaned against his arms, and his skin seemed to tingle where they touched. “I suppose you want a turn driving?”

“No,” he said, then made a face. “I mean, if you’re tired--” The bike sputtered and began to slow. Aravis swore.

“Oh dear, it appears that Aravis VERBALLY ADMITTED to being the one driving,” Bree said. Shasta realized guiltily that he had almost forgotten about the AI. “Still not allowed, kids. Switch back.” The bike rolled to a stop and Shasta released the handlebars, his fingers stiff, so Aravis could climb off. She grabbed his shoulder as he slid forward. She had bags under her eyes, lips pursed.

“Are you feeling better?” she asked.

“A lot better.”

time 13:43 The silence between them seemed to stiffen with the heat of day. Shasta drove again, and Aravis tossed him a few questions and told a few stories, but the easy spring of conversation from the night before had dried. He tried to keep his eyes on the road but they kept straying to the peaks rose like the bows of shipwrecks around them, so solid, so massive, that he could hardly believe they were real.

time 17:36 “Is the capital in the mountains?” Shasta asked, through lips dry from a brisk wind. The road was steep and winding, but more even and well-maintained than any other section they’d driven.

“Just past them,” Bree said. “Protected by mountains on one said and the floodplain on the other.”

“Why would they build it next to a floodplain?”

“On a plateau overlooking it,” Aravis corrected. Shasta’s ears pricked at her voice-- distracted, but not irritated. Not that she had any reason to be irritated with him, but-- he shook his head as if he could derail his train of thought. “It’s the most defensible city left on earth. Every road through the mountains could be crawling with speeders at a moment’s notice. And trying to invade from the floodplains is suicide. No gasoline, no outposts, no resupply. And if a storm hits while you’re out in the open? You’re dead.”

On the other hand, maybe focusing on her words wasn’t a smashing good idea either. “So, say, if we’re on these roads when Emeth’s news hits…”

“Current speed has us at the city gates in less than twenty-four hours,” Bree said.

“...we’d be toast.”

“So would we be able to hide? Just exactly how much treason did we commit?”

“I personally vote we go out guns blazing.”

“No,” Bree said firmly.

“Fine, I’ll distract them while you two zoom off. Hopefully my father will have posted a bounty on my head by now. That’ll get their attention.”

“Did you just say you hoped your dad put a bounty on your head?” Shasta demanded.

“You should hope so too, it’ll keep the heat off of you if we’re discovered! Think about it.”

“I’m glad we’ve found a use for you: speeder bait,” he said, cracking a smile. Poking fun at her was one reliable way of drawing her into conversation, like poking someone for attention. As he planned, she bristled in mock indignation.

“Pardon me, that’s not my only use-- I’ve been passing you snacks all morning.”

His spirit lifted at the teasing lilt in her voice. “You’ve been snacking all morning, that’s what you’ve done. I don’t think one in ten crackers you get from cargo has reached me.”

“Well, it’s hard work being the brains of the operation.”

“More like the stomach of the operation,” he said.

Aravis snorted. “Hey, Bree, I bet if we dumped Shasta, we’d burn less fuel.”

“Hey!”

The nav screen, which had brightened at the AI’s name, let out a buzz like a sigh. “Behave, children. And if Aravis is right about speeder presence in these mountains, you could afford to quiet down.”

“Alright--”

“Sorry, Bree.”

“--I guess we can keep him.” Shasta rolled his eyes at Aravis’ words.

“How generous,” Bree said tonelessly. “Keeping the apparent brawn of the operation.”

“Shasta?” Aravis snickered. “He’s not the brawn!”

“Bree said to be nice!”

“I would argue that you mischaracterized yourself as the brain, so--”

“Bree’s doing all the real work here, Bree’s the brawn,” Aravis said decidedly. “Shasta has to be the pretty face.”

Shasta’s mind went blank for a response to that. Did she-- did she just call him pretty? Aravis poked him, a little too hard. “I mean, not that you’re doing-- you could use a hair cut. I just meant-- you have a nice face. Structure. Good bones.” She patted his face. Could she feel how hot his skin was? He would do anything for Bree to say something, save him from the awkwardness of trying to respond to what must be a poorly executed joke. Bree stayed quiet.

“You have good bones too,” he said, the words running into each other.

“You don’t have to cut your hair if you don’t want to,” she said at the same time. Just dump me off the bike already, he thought.

“Just to be clear,” Bree said drily, “neither of you are the brains of the operation.”

Tag list:

@lasaraleen

[aquaticspiralstaircase]

NEGATIVE SPACE

warnings: amputation, death, descriptions of body horror, unreality

i wrote this for a writing contest but it didn’t win so here...the fruits of my labor

*-*-*-*

EIGHT.

I saw an angel today.

It was perched on top of the abandoned temple, where the Moroni statue normally stands. Most likely, I wouldn’t have noticed it at all if it weren’t for the shifting, glowing shapes behind it; whether they were meant to be wings or halos, I’m not sure, but they would stretch out every couple of seconds as though it were about to take flight before the edges would round out into a perfect circle again. The glow caught on a steady trickle of some dark substance dripping from underneath its generously decorated golden crown, where its circle of eyes around its face all bore deep into my chest, as though passing final judgement on my soul. It had ten arms, some gripping the platform tightly to steady itself and others stretched out wide, palms pointed towards the sky as if it bore the weight of the heavens.

Of course, I know it wasn’t really an angel. It’s supposed to almost look like one, but they say it’s really a demon masquerading poorly as one to garner attention from humans. Apparently, if you see it on a night exactly like this without giving it an offering, it drags you down the stairs to the basement eight days later, and you’re never seen again. Some say it kills you, others say it’s a fate worse than death.

I think it’s a load of crap.

SEVEN.

My town isn’t very well kept. There’s plenty of abandoned lots and buildings that make perfect settings for urban legends. What else are kids supposed to do around here? All we have for miles is a dying mall and a movie theater. Might as well make up stupid ghost stories to get your friends riled up. When I was in junior high, I was dared to sleep in a supposedly haunted house for the night, and I just got attacked by a stray dog. Of course, I fed into the fear even more and told my friends my injuries were from the ghost. That’s just what you do around here.

You can imagine that’s why I want to leave; twenty-eight years in this tiny town with absolutely nothing to do can get to you. With my minimum wage jobs and no college degree, though, it’s hard to get the money to move anywhere exciting. I’ll probably be stuck here forever.

SIX.

I’ve seen the angel twice more since the first night. Every time I walk home from work I pass the abandoned temple, and it’s always been there. Yesterday I could see the glow through the grimy stained glass, and today the locked doors had been torn off their hinges entirely; it just stood there in the entryway, staring at me the same way it had the first night.

The story of the temple, however tasteless it is, holds a lot more water than most of the stories I grew up with. So much of it is based on real events that I remember with perfect clarity. I didn’t grow up religious, but my friend’s mother used to volunteer at that temple, so one day when my father still hadn’t come home, I tagged along. It was a hot morning; I thought the smell as I stepped in was just some leftover buffet that hadn’t been cleaned up and took a seat as close to the open doors as I could.

My friend and I had been sitting there for about ten minutes before we heard the scream. Her mother discovered it--the eight bodies barricaded in the basement, each missing one arm. All but one of the people that had disappeared over the span of a couple months rotted there for about three days before they were discovered.

Eight funerals, no culprit.

They say the killer was performing some kind of ritual to summon a demon that grants your wish if you offer it a part of you in return. Apparently, it took great offense to the killer offering it the arms of others to grant his own wishes, and stole his body as punishment. Now it’s taken residence in the church, trying to find humans to worship it. Fitting that it’s in a temple, I guess.

FIVE.

I haven’t told anyone about the angel. I don’t have the time to be worried about it; I’m working two jobs already, all I have the energy to do in my downtime is sleep, not get freaked out about some stupid urban legend.

Surely, there’s a logical reason I’m seeing the angel. I’d love to say it’s an elaborate prank, but it seems far too perfectly executed to be the work of some bored kids in this small town. How would they manage to get the costume to look so convincing? Besides, it would be a really sick prank to pull on me of all people. Everyone knows that.

FOUR.

I’m starting to think I need to see a therapist. I can at least acknowledge that I’ve never been good at processing my emotions--it’s just easier to bottle something up and set it aside. Maybe that’s why I’m seeing the angel. I’m sure since it’s so close to the 15th anniversary of my father’s disappearance, my brain is coming up with grotesque ways to force me to acknowledge my grief. That’s how that works, right? That’s why I’m seeing things.

I pestered one of my coworkers to walk home with me tonight. I’m sure I wasn’t as subtle as I wanted to be, but at least she humored me.

The angel was close to the fence this time. It was gangly and bony, and the extra arms were all clumsily stitched on and half rotten. Its face was completely unrecognizable, the ash-gray flesh pulled taught over its skull and soaked in that black substance flowing from underneath its crown. Its eyes stared directly at me with a kind of monstrous intensity I couldn’t bear to stomach.

Then, for the first time, it opened its disgusting mouth and spoke. It said my name. Not my real name, the one I’ve been legally known as for the past ten years, but the one my father gave me.

As I shrieked and stumbled back, my coworker stared right through it. She held onto my arm and asked me what was wrong, and I barely managed to scrape together enough composure to say I thought I saw some stray animal and pull her along. I don’t think she believed me.

THREE.

I avoided the temple tonight. I know it’s not real, but I thought if I avoided seeing it, I would feel more at ease. I can’t shake this terrible feeling, though--if I didn’t see it at the temple, how do I know it’s there?

Of course, that sounds stupid. It’s always been there. I’m not even sure it can leave, according to the legend--but of course, what does the legend matter if it’s just in my head? I keep picturing it around each corner I turn, waiting for me at the end of each dark hallway, ready to pounce whenever I open a door.

Some part of me wants to run back to the temple and confirm it’s still there behind the fence, not lurking in the shadows of my apartment. I’m not going to let myself give into the fear, though. I can’t let it get the best of me.

TWO.

I gave up. Today was my day off, so I was never obligated to leave the safety of my apartment. Still, the fear gripped me, dragging me down to the temple to confirm the worst.

There was nothing there when I arrived, as far as I could tell. At first, this terrified me--if it wasn’t there, it could be absolutely anywhere, right? The only comfort I could take was the realization that I had only ever seen it at night. The reasonable thing to do would be to go home and force myself to forget about it, but instead, I sat outside the fence for several achingly long hours, just waiting for a glimpse of its glowing halo somewhere inside.

Nothing. No sight of it, even well after the last glow of daylight had dipped below the horizon. I rushed home and hid under my blankets until morning.

ONE.

My father had been gone for three days prior to the discovery of the murders. However, his body was never found among the eight corpses in the temple’s basement. He always used to say how badly he wanted to see the rest of the world; he would homeschool me while we traveled, and we would always be home as long as we were together. If only we had the money to do it, he’d say. Money was the only thing stopping us.

It sounded perfect at the time. Just me and my dad, no loud classmates and overwhelming homework. I’d learn from the real world, just as he said. As I grew older without his influence, though, I started to leave that dream behind, just as my dad left me.

Still, even if I’m not traveling the world on a whim, I could never shake the need to get as far away from this town as possible. Get away from his memory.

The angel was outside my apartment tonight. Perched on a nearby tree to see into my window, it stared deeply at me, right into the tear in my soul. I could see in its hard gaze that it knew me, unlike any other person had. All in an instant, just at the blink of an eye, it could see my all my pain, my misery, my joy, my hopes--everything that made me who I am. I stared right back at it as I swung the window open, holding up a metal bat threateningly.

“I can give you what you want.” It groaned at me. Its voice was harsh but airy, its throat dried out and no longer meant for speech, and yet there was a tone of familiarity to it that only made my stomach churn. Still, it insisted on speaking, leaning in closer to speak my old name again.

I told it that’s not who I am anymore, and it only laughed before spreading out its glowing wings. “Who you are now and who you were before are of no concern to me. Make your choice soon, or none of it will matter at all.” It said before taking off. I watched it launch itself into the sky, but I lost sight of it almost instantly.

Instead, I set my sights on something else.

ZERO.

It wasn’t a hard choice to make, now that I saw everything in front of me clearly. I did put together a bag of clothes and food, but as I was walking through my front door, I threw the bag off my shoulders and let it land hard in the middle of the floor. There was only one thing I would need, I realized. Nothing else mattered--none of it ever mattered.

I stopped at work to buy it. A flash of worry spread across my manager’s face as I held the wooden handle firmly in my hands, telling him I wouldn’t be coming to work tomorrow--or ever again, in fact. I ignored his prying questions as I left the store for the final time.

It wasn’t easy getting past the fence to the temple, but when I finally stepped foot into the abandoned building, I felt a surge of dizzying energy around me. Everything was distant, even my own hands gripping the handle were miles away. The specks of dust that gently floated through the air were white noise on a television, the telltale sign of an absolute nothing, the manifestation of a lack of existence. The filler in our space between one place in time to the next. My life was just that; filler, nothing but biding my time from the last time I ever saw him until now.

That didn’t mean none of it mattered, of course. The deliberate call to attention to nothing in stark contrast to the presence of something can be absolutely vital. The negative space around a portrait provides context and depth to the thing your eye is ultimately drawn to. For the angel to laugh in my face as I declared who I am, dismiss the total nothing of my life, was an insult that cut deeper than it knew.

The cut went right through me. One minute it was there, and the next, blood flowed freely to the floor, pooling around my feet and sending me into a spinning haze. My axe clattered to the floor and I pressed my hand to the wound, where my arm used to be. The angel’s face split into a pleased grin while it accepted my offering. As it spoke my old name for the final time, I weakly retrieved my axe, heaving each painful breath and swaying as I stood upright.

“My name is Ramiel.” I spat through gritted teeth. “And I want your crown.”

The angel’s smile was gone in a second. “My crown?” It asked, lacing its fingers together thoughtfully. “Is it wealth you’re after?”

I stared into its numerous eyes wordlessly.

After a long few minutes of contemplation, the angel lifted the crown off its head. The black substance dripped unresisted down its face, mixing into my blood until we were surrounded by a sea of darkness. The crown was heavy as it carefully placed it upon my head, and as it took a step back to admire me proudly, it gave me a content smile. “You remind me of him,” it sighed fondly. With every ounce of strength I had left, I raised my axe high in the air.

“One more thing.” I said, relishing the way its eyes widened at me. “I want you to regret what I became.”

As I buried my axe into its skull, darkness sprayed everywhere until I was thrust into true nothing. A long, furious shriek pierced through my heart, blood spilling from my chest as I fell to my knees. My back burned white hot like the light that filled the endless void around me. The wings had taken their rightful place behind me, flapping wildly in defiance until slowly forming into a halo. I dragged myself up the stairs from the basement, existence slowly returning to me with each heavy step.

I took my perch on top of the temple, newfound power coursing through my veins. The static of my meaningless existence had ended. I occupied a new space, directly at the center of the world.

[imaginexmeintheuniverse]

Warren Worhtington 😇

The Comeback Kid OTP Challenge

Day 5: Under normal circumstances hewould speak his mind, but with a gun to his head…

Warnings: it’s a secret agent au in which the reader and Warren have been captured so there’s violence, guns, a little bit of sexual harassment (definitely not romanticized), and genreally a lot of spy movie cliches

A/N:this is going to be part of that secret agent au I’ve talked about beforebecause this seems like the right moment, and yes I did use the name of a Bondvillain in this fun little cliche of a spy au

Under normal circumstances he would speak his mind, but witha gun to his head… Your cocky dumbass of a partner is still speaking his mind.

“You’ll have to speak up, I have a hard time hearingyou over that cheap suit, asshole,” Warren doesn’t even bother to look upat the burly man who glares at him stoically. “In case your puny braincan’t comprehend, I was implying that your boss clearly needs a better stylistfor his cronies.” You hear the man cock his gun that must be pressed toyour partner’s temple, and yet Warren continues to mouth off like a completeidiot, “You can shoot me if you want, but you can’t get any answers if I’mdead—”

The end of whatever snide comment he was about to make iscut off by the man hitting him with the gun, the sound of metal smackingagainst Warren’s face resonating in the poorly-lit room. The whole scene isquite theatrical, really. You and Warren are tied to chairs that are set upback to back in the seedy basement of a drug lord’s mansion where you were justundercover at a socialite party he was hosting, in order retrieve intel, thenyou got caught and ended up here. Like every spy movie you watched growing up,Warren was dressed for the red carpet in a sleek black top of the line tux andyou had opted for the more simplistic waitress uniform to blend in— much toyour dismay, it seemed almost too typical that it was a short black cocktaildress, as opposed to the regular waiting staff suit you were hoping for.

You’re not sure how far below ground you’re being kept, butwhen the door opens you can still vaguely hear the music playing which is howyou’ve deduced that you’re still at the party. Your facing away from theentrance, but you assume the big boss has decide to grace you all with hispresence since all the men around the room have squared up their shoulders andyou can make out some hushed voices speaking in Greek as the door creaks shut.

“What the hell are you doing?!” you whisper-yell,turning your head to one side so that only Warren could hear you while everyoneelse seems to be more preoccupied with the drug lord who pays them.“You’re going to get us—”

“Hey! Speak up!” A man with a heavier accent andrefrigerator-like build approaches you from the front. He looks down at you,but you’ve seen too many of this overdone-stereotype-of man to be scared in theslightest, and you match his scowl with an unreadable glare of your own.“Do you have something to say?” You stay silent, and narrow your eyesat him, which he doesn’t seem to like as much because he slaps you across theface in response, and you could be imagining it, but you feel Warren flinch atthe loud smack echoing through the room. “If you have something to say,you better—”

“Enough,” The room goes silent, the noise presentbeing the sound of light, slow steps approach you. “Aristotle Kristatos,but I’m assuming that you are already familiar with my name.” You canpicture the perfect movie villain introduction, his face being illuminated bythe dull fluorescent lights as he steps out of the shadows.

“It’s about time you got here,” Warren snorts, andyou wonder if he has a death wish.

“Ah yes,” his voice is sinister; straight out of aJames Bond movie. “I’ve heard about you—”

“All good things I hope,” Warren interjects, butKristatos ignores the interruption, proceeding to make his way around the comfylittle set up to your side, and gives you a nonchalant once-over before goingback around to face your partner.

“They call you the Archangel,do they not?”

“That’s me,” Warren leans back in his chair with a cocky grin, chin tilted up in anair of superiority despite the man looking down on him with his own sense ofdominance— which, to be fair, he does have the upper hand in the situationconsidering he’s got the both of you tied down. “I must have made quitethe name for myself.” You don’t know what kind of angle he’s playing butif he’s going to get himself killed he better not be taking you down with him.

“Indeedyou have, Mr. Worthington.” He speaks in a low, deadly tone. He, himselfseems steady, even, but also like he was teetering on the edge of snapping, likethe calm before a storm and anything could set him off. “Your name is onethat is very much, disliked, amongstsome of my, ehm, friends in thebusiness.”

“Andhere I was hoping I was their type,” Warren lets out a small snort, andmutters something under his breath that you can’t quite make out.

“You are not,” Kristatos sounds likehe might let out a low laugh as he steps back around to your side. “Butyour partner,” He brushes stray hairs away from your eyes and his fingerslinger on your skin as they slide down the side of your face. It’s a gesturethat might be considered sweet or even romantic— if it were from someone else.From him, it’s unsettlingly creepy. “They would certainly enjoy hercompany.” Repulsed by the callous man’s touch you tilt your head away,only to be met by a harsh grasp on your chin that angles your head upwards. Hisgrip progressively tightens until your eyes are forced to meet with his. Ensnaringyou in his venomous gaze, there’s a split second where a certain fear flashesacross your eyes, and you know he caught that when the corner of his mouthquirks up. “It would be a shame to see such a pretty face bruised.”

“Don’tyou fucking touch her with yourfilthy hands—” You feel Warren tense up behind you and swear you can hearhim gritting his teeth.

Satisfiedwith the reactions he’s elicited from the both of you, he releases your chinroughly, jerking your head to the side from all the built up tension and makeshis way back around to Warren. “Simmer down, Mr. Worthington, you wouldn’twant anything bad to happen to your lovelypartner because of your hot temper, would you?”

“Eatshi—” the rest of his retort is cut short by his face taking yet againanother punch, but by the big man himself this time.

“Youreally should be more respectful to your host,” Kristatos remarks, and youcrane your neck as far as it will go, to see him dispose of a bloody handkerchiefhe used to wipe the blood off his hands. Judging by the amount of blood, youassume Warren has a gash where he was hit, no doubt from the expensive ringsthe drug lord wears.

You halfexpect Warren to burst out again, but instead, he lets out a dark laugh, andtilts his head slightly to the side, maintaining his cocky smirk despite theblood dripping over his lip. “Do you know why they call me the Archangel?”

“Thisisn’t the time, Worthington,” you mutter under your breath, warning himthat it’s too soon.

Unlike hishenchmen, the big boss here doesn’t seem to care much about hearing what youhave to say to your partner, and plays into the Archangel’s game. “Enlightenme,” Kristatos sneers, thinking he’s just humoring Warren, and you rollyour eyes knowing the latter is about to show off.

“Allowme to demonstrate,” The ropes that bound his wrists drop to the floorbefore he utters the last syllable of his sentence, and the metal chair he saton a second ago is thrust onto the nearest guard where it’s met with an oomph. Of course none of that wasexecuted before Warren took the opportunity to spit a mouthful of blood at thevillain’s feet.

Everything fromthat point unravels fairly quickly. Gunshots ring throughout the room and themetallic clink of bullet casings dropping on the concrete is all around you. Youhear the thumps of large bodies falling to the floor in a heap of lost consciousnesses.

One of themen makes a beeline for you, only to be intercepted by Warren tackling him andswiftly knocking him out with one swing of the chair he had thrown moments ago.The rest of them encroach on your partner and you try to keep track of him inthe crowd of bodies, when your suddenly pulled back and turned to faceKristatos. The man grins at you predatorily as he pulls out his own gun.

Whoevermanhandled your chair soon becomes another tally mark along with what you’dassume to be all of Kristatos’ accomplices as you see him fall limp at the legsof the chair.

Warren callsout to Kristatos and approaches you in what seems to be a hostage situation. “I’monly warning you once, get away from he—”

“Notanother step!” Coming to the conclusion that you’re the hostage doesn’ttake much, considering you’re the one staring down the barrel of the villain’sgun as he aims it between your eyes.

You canbarely contain your sigh of boredom and impatience. It’s not hard for you topredict what happens next, which is Warren, despite having clear disadvantagein distance, is still quicker that the older man and shoots the arm that holdsthe gun up to your head. Landing another shot, you watch as the man before you doublesover in pain and holds a hand over his shoulder.

“It’sabout damn time,” you mutter as Warren finally unties you from the chair.“You know, you could have at least let me have that one guy.” Hedefinitely knows you can handle yourself but it’s also a petty habit of hiswhere he loves stealing the show.

“Ihaven’t had that much fun in a while, and can you blame me for wanting to showoff to my sexy new partner?” He replies with a slight grin, careful not tostretch the gash on his lip.

“Don’tpush it, Worthington,” You warn him as you rub your sore wrists. Warrentosses a loaded gun to you and flashes a small smirk when you catch it withease. The flirtatious moment is interrupted by Kristatos’ grunts of pain as hescrambles his way out of the room and you turn to your partner with an eyebrowraised. “Should we…”

“Nah,he’ll just run into our fellow X-Men,” he responds nonchalantly whiletucking the gun he was holding into his waistband. “So how about we letbackup take care of Kristatos, and you and I can take our sweet time—”

“I’mgoing to give you one chance torethink finishing that sentence after having handed me a gun.”

“Wecan take our sweet time walking out— wouldn’t want you to break a heel,”he barely puts effort into the save, and you snort at how he still tries toplay it smooth, topping it off with a wink. He closes the distance between thetwo of you, taking  off his suit jacketas he does so, and places it around your bare shoulders. “Because I amfirst, and foremost, a gentleman.”

“Itwas a nice touch,” you say in a light, playful tone. “You should getan Oscar for that outburst, back there.”

“Really?”He plays along, a small grin in his voice. “I feel like I could have put abit more passion into it, maybe yell a little louder.”

“Ithink power lies in subtlety,” Taking the pocket hanky from his jacketthat hangs perfectly off your smaller frame, you press it to the gash on hislip. “Not that you would know anything about that.” He chuckles inresponse, and follows up with a slight wince at the strain on his split lip. “Nexttime, you could untie me before you start showing off. Returning the favor isthe least you could do after I got rope burn on my fingers from that.”

“Whatdo you say we get out of here, and I can return the favor in your room?”He’s so smooth that you almostconsider it for a split second. “Or mine— whatever my lovely partner would prefer.”

“Iprefer my room,” Warren’s ears perk up, surprised that you actuallyanswered.

“Soundgood to m—”

“Theone that has a wall separating me from your room where you’ll be behavingyourself.”

“I’mdisappointed, but no promises about behaving,” Warren slides an arm aroundyour waist as he walks you out of the dimly-lit basement, and when you’ve madeit back out to where the air is more breathable he leans close to your ear andspeaks in a low voice that sends a shiver down your spine, “We’ll call it araincheck, this time.”

*PS: I had a lot of fun writing this and hope to continuethis AU more extensively in future and I feel like it’s one the more decentthings I’ve written lately so I hope you enjoyed it despite it not being one ofthe more romantic-centered works of mine~

Tags: @emmcfrxst @iamplaguedwithideas @expellimarvelous @coltcas (hope y’all don’t mind me tagging you)

Masterlist

[itispossibleihaveissues]

Stranger Than Known Chapter 3

TITLE: Stranger Than Known

AUTHOR: Mikimoo

RECIPIENT:  biirdiie

PAIRING: JayDick

RATING:  Explicit

WARNINGS: sex pollen, dubcon, puns

SUMMARY: Slade’s easy job as a bodyguard is about to get complicated when his employer finally achieves his goal of capturing a Bat (or two).

Warnings this chapter: Some non-consensual situations and nasty talk from nasty people. Also murder, lots of murder.

Thank you to my awesome beta Chianti Rioja!

Chapter 1, 2

Slade could admit that watching the boys get lost in sensation and each other was arousing, far more than if they had been mindlessly rutting on Ivy's straight up spores. The crowd clearly agreed and bids were hotting up. Slade reluctantly tore his eyes away from the scene in front of him; Grayson was still moving in that sinuous, sensual way and Todd was almost whimpering – the top button of his pants had come undone and his top was riding up to show a strip of pale skin.

It was time Slade paid attention to who was going to win the night with them, which would be the deciding factor on how his own job went today. It was annoyingly hard to tear his eyes away, but he was nothing if not a professional.

The bidding was down to the last six; a collection of villains and perverts, about evenly mixed. Most of the people after the Red Hood were those he had personally wronged – something that would no doubt be very unpleasant for him when they finally laid hands on him. Grayson's lot were more of a mixed bunch; a few straight up perverts and body collectors, mixed in with a handful of people whose operations he had busted. There was one stand out, who Slade had tipped to win on the basis that his pockets were almost as deep as Wayne’s. He was both a sexual sadist and had been arrested due to Nightwing’s investigation. He was of course out on a million dollar bail, and primed to take his revenge.

“And now!” McVitie squealed to the crowd, “Now for the winners to claim their prizes!”

Slade couldn’t help turning back to the boys, to see their response. Both had stopped moving, flushed and tense. Alert to the point of fear.  

“The winners of the Red Hood, with a shared bid – numbers 55 and 91!”

55 was a small, angry looking woman called Este Bankoff. She had recently escaped from jail where she had been serving 155 years for human trafficking, murder and tax evasion. There was pure hell in her eyes as she stared up at Todd's image on the screen. No doubt he had been the one to put her behind bars, he seemed to really enjoy taking down traffickers.  Number 91 was Hector Jones, drug runner and a big player in both the US and South America. He was a large man with an ugly scar bisecting his nose – from the Red Hood’s knife. The night was going to be a painful one for Todd it seemed.

Slade had been correct about the winner for Dick’s bid. Stefan Sokolov, an illegitimate, American born son of a Russian billionaire. As his father’s only child he had inherited his fortune young, after Mr. Sokolov the elder had fallen to his death from a faulty ski lift while holidaying with his fifteen year old son. There were whispers of course, but nothing could be proved. Young Stefan took to his new found wealth with ease and spent large portions of it buying off the various prostitutes he tortured in his penthouse. Nightwing had made a case against him with enough evidence to stick, despite all the money he had thrown at it.

Now it looked like Stefan was going to double up on the things he loved most – revenge and torture. He looked hungry as he stared up at the projected image. Slade couldn’t blame him, but he didn’t like it.

“And now the prizes will be prepared for the winners, so relax and enjoy the party!” McVitie said, as the screen flicked off. Champagne was served along with delicious looking canapés , and cocaine in long lines on silver trays.It was all served by scantily clad waitstaff, something for every taste apparently.

McVitie was so excited, scampering from guest to guest, talking and nodding in that unbearably annoying way he had. Slade turned away in distaste. He watched the boys have a quiet but frantic conversation in the box, and saw the moment of panic as knock out gas was pumped into the glass cage to incapacitate them for transportation.

Slade felt he was doing a lot of irritated sighing during the course of this mission. That in itself was annoying. It was closing in on the time he would have to make some decisions but he didn’t want to play his hand too soon, there might still be a way to work things out.

“Deathstroke!” McVitie said happily, “Come with me, we can watch the proceedings from my private chambers.”

They walked to McVitie’s rooms in blessed silence, which gave Slade a little more time to ponder his choices. Inside there was a set up of giant screens, showing various rooms and people. The two main sets were off – no doubt to be used for dramatic effect.

McVitie sat on his fancy, tasteless chair with satisfaction oozing out of every pore. “Not long now until the fun stuff!” he said.

“Do you have a further itinerary for your guests of honour? Or will these first bidders also be the last?”

“No, no, there will be another day or so for Nightwing – I have a kill request on the second day that is frankly too good to pass up. Although, now I know who he is, I might have to, and see how best to use that.” He pondered for a moment, rubbing at his chin with a bony finger. “The Red Hood is solidly booked. I have a request from Black Mask for the final day.”

Presumably that would also be the final day of the Red Hood. “Will these bidders honour that do you think?” he asked.

“Yes, or I will have them killed. They know that.” McVitie said dismissively. “Shall we see how they’re doing?” He flicked on one of the big screens.

The first showed Todd, still bound as before, except now with his legs rather inefficiently roped together. He was situated on the rug of the couple’s suite with the woman straddling his thighs as he squirmed beneath her. They had removed the blindfold, and even over the cameras the look in his eyes was pure murder. It was unclear if she was attempting to hurt him, sexually assault him or hold him down for her partner.

It was a lot less fun to watch than when he was bickering with Grayson earlier. Slade was unsurprised to see that he seemed to be loosening his bindings, and was only a few kicks short of dislodging Bankhoff and freeing himself from the necktie  wrapped around his ankles. The kid had some strong legs on him. Slade had been kicked in the face more than once by the Red Hood, (and indeed, by a gangly foul mouthed Robin who hadn’t quite grown into his limbs yet) and a necktie was not going to cut it.

Slade felt a horrifying trickle of nostalgia remembering Todd calling him a ‘dumbfuck Cyclops with more wrinkles than brains,’ just before launching a poorly executed, but wonderfully powerful, flying kick. Slade had almost toppled off the building he was on after he allowed it to land, but it was worth it as he caught the offending foot and tossed Robin off the roof instead. It was amusing to see how many times the kid tumbled ass over elbow before remembering he had a zip line and firing it. And he never stopped cussing the whole way down either – a remarkably inventive kid when it came to language. Despite his smarts and his growing physical skills, Slade had dismissed him as Not As Good As Grayson, and therefore of little interest other than as a passing amusement. But puberty, a brain injury and assorted trauma seemed to have done wonders for the kid. He was almost sorry he hadn’t pursued him in the same way he had Grayson, especially as Dick suffered from an almost terminal case of suffocating morality. Todd had turned out much more flexible on that score, although probably not flexible enough. Slade bit back yet another a sigh.

On the screen the man was more or less sitting on Todd's head in an effort to keep him still, as he cut off the fake uniform top with a small razor blade. He wasn’t being particularly careful and there were bloody cuts across his exposed skin. Todd’s thrashing and cussing were not helping matters either.

Slade turned away to fine McVitie looking at him with a calculating expression on his face. Slade's instincts kicked into gear, there was something happening here, a test of some sort? Despite his moment of reminiscing, Slade had kept his face black and professional. Whatever reaction McVitie was aiming for, he hadn’t got it.

McVitie gave him an insincere smile. “Shall we see what the other one is up to?” He switched on the other screen to reveal Grayson, face down on the bed of an ornate guest suite. He was still bound and blindfolded, but clearly working on that despite the pain he was in. Stefan was straddling his hips, rubbing against him threateningly. Beside him on the bedside table there were an array of objects laid out  that ranged from oversized sex toys to implements better suited to a medieval torture chamber.

It wasn’t those that got under Slade's skin though, it was the words Stefan was whispering into Dick’s ear as he dry humped him. “I’m going to fuck you wide open, Nightwing, scar you from the inside out. Every time you wake you’ll have to think of me , every time you take a shit, you’ll think of me , every damn moment of your short life will be about me and what I’ve done to you. I don’t get to kill you, but you’ll wish I had, even as your last thoughts are of me.”

Slade hated that. Someone else claiming a part of Grayson. It wasn’t that he believed that Dick belonged to him in any real way, it was just he definitely did not belong to this upstart pervert. There was also little doubt that Stefan spoke a level of truth, if he was allowed to go all out on his victim, he was capable of breaking him. Very capable. Grayson was just a man, after all, no matter his training.

He just couldn’t let it happen.

Stefan leaned back and smacked at Grayson’s behind with the flat of his palm. “First, maybe I’ll break your legs,” he mused. “Break them so even if you're rescued, you’ll never walk again. Not without pain, not without help. You’ll never fight again, never fly.”

Beneath him, Dick shivered. As though the threat of that was somehow worse than death. Stefan grinned, catching the involuntary shudder.

“How do you feel about that?” Stefan asked, like he was genuinely curious to hear the answer.

“Go fuck yourself.” Dick grunted.

“I’d rather fuck you, Nightwing.” Stefan gloated. He had yet to take off the blindfold, but no doubt he would soon, to make Grayson watch.

On the screen Dick didn’t dignify that with an answer, twisting his limbs in his bonds, looking for a tiny bit of give he could exploit.

“So,” McVitie said, interrupting his thoughts in a very casual tone. “It’s Grayson you have a history with. I did wonder.”

Slade realised he must have given something away with his expression or body language. Very bad form on his part, just another sour note to add to this clusterfuck of a mission.

“And?” he asked, not bothering to deny it.

“Will you betray me for him?” McVitie asked, without the fear such a question should be spoken with.

“That depends. Are you going to betray me ?” Slade asked, mildly. He was, that much was now a given. But McVitie had to make a drama out of it, even his face looked dramatic, theatrical in its over excited expression. The little creep really did love the melodrama of a good betrayal.

As if on cue, the door opened and a tall muscular woman stepped in. Slade recognised her, although they had never met. Shard, an assassin, mercenary and bodyguard. She had a good rep and possibly some meta ability, or the sort of enhancements Slade himself had. He could take her in a fight, but it wouldn’t be easy, and he wasn’t sure Grayson had the time for him to indulge in a long, drawn out battle.

“This all feels very familiar,” Slade drawled. “Except last time I was the man hired to kill my predecessor. It seems this is a short term job, Cecil.”

“Lucrative though,” Shard said, amiably.

“Indeed. Although McVitie seems to have forgotten one thing.”

“Your prowess? “ McVite sneered, apparently thrilled to be able to talk some more instead of running away like a smart man would. “Shard’s better. I always get the best of everything.”

Slade slowly drew his blade, Shard did the same with a wicked looking katana and they sized one another up for a moment. “No, not my prowess. It is considerable, but I concede that Shard is good enough to make the fight an interesting one. But no, the thing you have forgotten is that mercs like Shard and myself don’t need to fight to prove ourselves and we don’t fight for honour. We fight for money.” Before he had even fully finished speaking, Slade reversed the blade, struck out to the side and slammed it home into McVitie’s gut, McVitie made a noise like a startled pig and Slade twisted the blade as he withdrew it. “If there’s no employer there’s no money, and if there’s no money, there’s no fight.”

“Aw, shit,” Shard said, a sad downturn to her mouth. “He was good for almost two mil.”

“He was selling you short, my first job for him was double that.”

“Still, easy money.”

“Well, it will take him a little while to bleed out, but not enough time to get him any sort of help. Money’s gone.”

Shard looked at her blade, a little petulantly, but then sighed. “You’re a bastard, Deathstroke, but it was fair play I guess.”

Slade inclined his head.

Shard clicked her tongue and glanced at the ornate nonsense in the room. “What about the goods? They got any resale value? Only seems fair I get to make back a bit of my loss.”

Slade rolled his shoulders in a casual shrug. “Sure. But they’re mine. He has plenty of other shit around, take whatever else you want, then leave to fight another day.”

She gave him a shrewd and speculative look. “Must be worth a hell of a lot if you would only take them, and just give the rest to me.”

“They’re getting less valuable by the second. I don’t have time to fight. But yes, they are worth a lot, to the right people. But besides me, there is also a high price to dealing with them. They will bring down a crap of trouble on any buyer or broker. Bat trouble.”

“Shit, Gotham type Bats? I fucking hate Gotham.”

“Bleghhhh,” McVitie said from the floor, snivelling and choking on his own blood.

Slade ignored him. “Gotham and Bat trouble are both acquired tastes, but one of these boys and I have history. Having him indebted to me is worth the aggravation from the Big Bad Bat.”

“Ha, well rather you than me. Take them, I’ll be raiding the old pig’s files and cellar, I’m sure there’s enough crap in here to pay double what he offered me.” She picked up a gaudy, gold and diamond encrusted paper weight in the shape of a fat dog and examined it critically. “Shame money can’t buy taste.”

“Urrrgle!” McVitie objected. His eyes were beginning to roll. It wouldn’t be long now until he took his poor sense of aesthetics with him to the afterlife. Couldn’t come soon enough really.

Shard pocketed the paper weight with a philosophical shrug. “Pleasure doing business with you.”

“Same.” Slade watched her leave then shoved McVitie over with the toe of his boot and wiped his sword clean on the back of his pants. Only then did he turn his attention back to the main screens.

Stefan was still talking and although Dick was bleeding from the nose and had a fat lip, he was still clothed and appeared unhurt. Stefan seemed to be making a performance of it, or perhaps he just loved the sound of his own voice. He might well spend all night listening to himself talk at this rate.  

On the other screen, Todd had his legs free and seemed to have kicked Bankoff in the face, she was on her knees, dazed and bleeding. The man was shouting and waving a hammer.

Although he could more or less take or leave Todd, years of exposure to Grayson suggested that they would be going nowhere without him as well. And if Todd's legs were broken or he was unconscious with a claw-hammer to the skull, getting the three of them clear of McVitie’s mansion would be far more difficult and more importantly, far more aggravating.  

So he decided to go get Todd first.

  Slade didn’t bother knocking, just kicked the door down with enough force to knock it clear off its hinges. This also had the beneficial effect of taking out Bankhoff, who seemed to have propped herself against it in order to get over being kicked in the skull.

Jones was gaping stupidly at him, hammer raised, while Todd scooted across the floor on his butt, hands still bound behind him. Slade took two smooth steps forward and smashed his sword hilt into Jones’ face, knocking him down. Then he cut the bindings on Todd's arms.

“Deathstroke? The fuck you doing here?” Todd panted. The pain from the drugs was probably reduced from the amount of adrenaline in his system, but he was clearly still feeling it. Or maybe that was the few blows from the hammer that had landed, at least it seemed to have missed anything vital.

“You’re welcome,” Slade said.

“Nightwing?” Todd asked, getting to his feet, a little shakily.

“We’ll pick him up next.”

“Okay, lemme just get a shirt,” Todd said, eyeing up Jones who was blubbering and crawling, blinded by the blow or the blood running into his eyes. Todd grabbed him, yanking his black button-up out of his pants and over his head while Jones whimpered and begged. Todd said nothing as he placed the slightly blooded shirt on the side table and picked the razor blade that had cut lines into his chest. “I’ve been a pretty good boy recently, sticking to the rules when I’m in Gotham.” he said.

“Please!” Jones said, plaintively. “I’m sorry, Please!”

Todd ignored him. “But we aren’t in Gotham, and sometimes folks just piss me off enough for me to make an exception.”

Jones tried to scrabble away, but Todd grabbed him by the hair, pulling his head back and slitting his throat with a practised motion, clean and with no hesitation. Slade watched as the arterial spray hit the far wall, he really had missed an opportunity with this one. Blinded by Grayson’s natural brilliance he had missed the potential in his replacement. Still, too late now.

Unruffled by the arch of blood, Todd had put on the shirt and was looking at Bankoff, he seemed more reluctant to deal her a final blow, possibly because it was unsportsmanlike to kill an unconscious opponent. Slade had no such limiting compunctions and he stabbed her in the chest as he passed, the crunch of her ribs was satisfying. This job was a shit show, but at least he was getting to take his frustrations out on something.

“Come along, Todd,” he called over his shoulder.

Todd paused long enough to pick up the hammer he had been threatened with, and then a long thin bladed knife, before following him out of the door. Slade had to admit to being a little impressed with how steady Todd's hand was on the blade, seeing as he was shuddering and sweating with pain. Despite that, he kept pace, clearly as itchy to reach Grayson as Slade was.  

  They burst into the room in much the same way Slade had burst into Todd's. The room appeared empty and quiet at first glance, but it was that kind of quiet that seemed to follow frenzied activity that had been quickly cut off.

“Dickie?” Todd called, completely breaking every protocol the Bat had ever beat into his thick skull.

Grayson's head popped up from the other side of the bed. His hair was sticking up like he had been tugged through a bush backwards and he was slightly wild eyed.

His gaze fell on Todd first, relief clear on his face, then his eyes flicked back further. “Slade?” He blinked at them for moment, then a stupid grin spread across his face. “Are you rescuing me? I didn’t know you cared!”

“I don’t, but this would have been an embarrassing way for you to die, and my employer would have betrayed me anyway. Not to mention the fact now you are both in my debt.”

“I didn’t need your help, I’m nearly out, see?” he pushed himself up on the bed, in the same position he had been on the vid screen. Both his shoulders were dislocated and although his arms were still bound, he was working his way free of the bindings.

“Oh, gross,” Todd said. “Stop fucking wiggling like that.” He strode over and used his sharp little knife to cut the ropes the rest of the way off. Then he did a double take, looking down at Dick’s body. “Did he do anything?” He asked, voice suddenly very dangerous as he helped Dick to his feet and eyed up what Slade assumed was Stefan, unconscious and hidden down the side of the bed.

“No, I’m okay,” Dick said, going a little pink at the ears. “He just got a little enthusiastic with his knife.”

“If you say so. Wilson, can you help him get all his limbs back in order while I find some pants?”

While Slade objected very strongly to being ordered about by a Batling, he did want to give Grayson a once over just in case. Dick also looked like he was about to object, but Slade stepped forward and grabbed him by the arm, making him gasp and stagger slightly. His skin was fever hot even though the intact top half of the fake uniform. Before he had a chance to protest, Slade jerked the right shoulder back in place with a sharp movement.

“Oi!” Dick said when Slade manhandled him around to do the other, and it was quite obvious what had upset Todd when he got a look at Dick’s backside, literally. Stefan had cut the back of his tights open and he wasn’t wearing briefs. Slade jerked the other shoulder in place and then fended off a smack from Dick’s right arm, as he scowled and turned himself around again.

“Trying out a new look?” Slade asked mildly. Dick, as predicted, latched on to making a joke out of what was obviously an uncomfortable and perhaps upsetting situation.

“It’s a bit draughty for my tastes, actually,” he grinned, but his eyes were tight. As with Todd it was clear he was still in pain.

Behind him Todd was surreptitiously wiping blood off his knife, Stefan’s stolen pants draped over one arm. He gave Slade a little nod, confirming Stefan’s quiet demise tucked behind the bed.

“Put the pants on, Grayson, then lets hit the road before you two have to start humping again,” Slade said.

Todd flushed even redder than he already was and Dick grimaced. “Well we should probably tie Stefan up and...”

“No, we can track him down when you’re not on drugs and we aren’t in danger of being caught.” Although it would probably be mildly amusing to watch the two of them fight over killing people, they were on an increasingly tight schedule, because of the drugs and the possibility someone might notice the mess they had made.

“Fine,” Grayson agreed with surprisingly little fight. Perhaps due to the pain intensifying again now the adrenaline had worn off.

“Follow,” Slade said, and took off down the corridor. Behind him, both of them were muttering about following orders from a merc. But they were both doing what he asked, so he let them bitch and moan about it.

“Where are we going?” Grayson panted. He was sweating again and his steps were stumbling.

“One of McVitie’s other buildings. It has the tech I need to sort out this mess and rooms set up for you two to use however you decide.”

“How'd you mean?” Todd asked, suspiciously.

Slade sighed “Well, you have somewhere between three and eight hours left for the drug to work out of your systems. There is no antidote. So you have a choice, ride it out or continue where you left off earlier. Of course, I can also offer myself to help you out, if you prefer.

Grayson opened his mouth to speak, but Todd cut him off. “Oh hell no, no fucking way.”

Grayson's grinned, pained but still somewhat rueful. “Guess that’s a no.”

“Lets just get to this safe house,” Todd muttered.  

Slade smirked to himself. This was going to be very entertaining, he could just tell.

[thezeekrecord]

Negative Space

[content warnings: amputation, death, descriptions of body horror, unreality, deadnaming/transphobia]

EIGHT.

I saw an angel today.

It was perched on top of the abandoned temple, where the Moroni statue normally stands. Most likely, I wouldn’t have noticed it at all if it weren’t for the shifting, glowing shapes behind it; whether they were meant to be wings or halos, I’m not sure, but they would stretch out every couple of seconds as though it were about to take flight before the edges would round out into a perfect circle again. The glow caught on a steady trickle of some dark substance dripping from underneath its generously decorated golden crown, where its circle of eyes around its face all bore deep into my chest, as though passing final judgement on my soul. It had ten arms, some gripping the platform tightly to steady itself and others stretched out wide, palms pointed towards the sky as if it bore the weight of the heavens.

Of course, I know it wasn’t really an angel. It’s supposed to almost look like one, but they say it’s really a demon masquerading poorly as one to garner attention from humans. Apparently, if you see it on a night exactly like this without giving it an offering, it drags you down the stairs to the basement eight days later, and you’re never seen again. Some say it kills you, others say it’s a fate worse than death.

I think it’s a load of crap.

SEVEN.

My town isn’t very well kept. There’s plenty of abandoned lots and buildings that make perfect settings for urban legends. What else are kids supposed to do around here? All we have for miles is a dying mall and a movie theater. Might as well make up stupid ghost stories to get your friends riled up. When I was in junior high, I was dared to sleep in a supposedly haunted house for the night, and I just got attacked by a stray dog. Of course, I fed into the fear even more and told my friends my injuries were from the ghost. That’s just what you do around here.

You can imagine that’s why I want to leave; twenty-eight years in this tiny town with absolutely nothing to do can get to you. With my minimum wage jobs and no college degree, though, it’s hard to get the money to move anywhere exciting. I’ll probably be stuck here forever.

SIX.

I’ve seen the angel twice more since the first night. Every time I walk home from work I pass the abandoned temple, and it’s always been there. Yesterday I could see the glow through the grimy stained glass, and today the locked doors had been torn off their hinges entirely; it just stood there in the entryway, staring at me the same way it had the first night.

The story of the temple, however tasteless it is, holds a lot more water than most of the stories I grew up with. So much of it is based on real events that I remember with perfect clarity. I didn’t grow up religious, but my friend’s mother used to volunteer at that temple, so one day when my father still hadn’t come home, I tagged along. It was a hot morning; I thought the smell as I stepped in was just some leftover buffet that hadn’t been cleaned up and took a seat as close to the open doors as I could.

My friend and I had been sitting there for about ten minutes before we heard the scream. Her mother discovered it–the eight bodies barricaded in the basement, each missing one arm. All but one of the people that had disappeared over the span of a couple months rotted there for about three days before they were discovered.

Eight funerals, no culprit.

They say the killer was performing some kind of ritual to summon a demon that grants your wish if you offer it a part of you in return. Apparently, it took great offense to the killer offering it the arms of others to grant his own wishes, and stole his body as punishment. Now it’s taken residence in the church, trying to find humans to worship it. Fitting that it’s in a temple, I guess.

FIVE.

I haven’t told anyone about the angel. I don’t have the time to be worried about it; I’m working two jobs already, all I have the energy to do in my downtime is sleep, not get freaked out about some stupid urban legend.

Surely, there’s a logical reason I’m seeing the angel. I’d love to say it’s an elaborate prank, but it seems far too perfectly executed to be the work of some bored kids in this small town. How would they manage to get the costume to look so convincing? Besides, it would be a really sick prank to pull on me of all people. Everyone knows that.

FOUR.

I’m starting to think I need to see a therapist. I can at least acknowledge that I’ve never been good at processing my emotions–it’s just easier to bottle something up and set it aside. Maybe that’s why I’m seeing the angel. I’m sure since it’s so close to the 15th anniversary of my father’s disappearance, my brain is coming up with grotesque ways to force me to acknowledge my grief. That’s how that works, right? That’s why I’m seeing things.

I pestered one of my coworkers to walk home with me tonight. I’m sure I wasn’t as subtle as I wanted to be, but at least she humored me.

The angel was close to the fence this time. It was gangly and bony, and the extra arms were all clumsily stitched on and half rotten. Its face was completely unrecognizable, the ash-gray flesh pulled taught over its skull and soaked in that black substance flowing from underneath its crown. Its eyes stared directly at me with a kind of monstrous intensity I couldn’t bear to stomach.

Then, for the first time, it opened its disgusting mouth and spoke. It said my name. Not my real name, the one I’ve been legally known as for the past ten years, but the one my father gave me.

As I shrieked and stumbled back, my coworker stared right through it. She held onto my arm and asked me what was wrong, and I barely managed to scrape together enough composure to say I thought I saw some stray animal and pull her along. I don’t think she believed me.

THREE.

I avoided the temple tonight. I know it’s not real, but I thought if I avoided seeing it, I would feel more at ease. I can’t shake this terrible feeling, though–if I didn’t see it at the temple, how do I know it’s there?

Of course, that sounds stupid. It’s always been there. I’m not even sure it can leave, according to the legend–but of course, what does the legend matter if it’s just in my head? I keep picturing it around each corner I turn, waiting for me at the end of each dark hallway, ready to pounce whenever I open a door.

Some part of me wants to run back to the temple and confirm it’s still there behind the fence, not lurking in the shadows of my apartment. I’m not going to let myself give into the fear, though. I can’t let it get the best of me.

TWO.

I gave up. Today was my day off, so I was never obligated to leave the safety of my apartment. Still, the fear gripped me, dragging me down to the temple to confirm the worst.

There was nothing there when I arrived, as far as I could tell. At first, this terrified me–if it wasn’t there, it could be absolutely anywhere, right? The only comfort I could take was the realization that I had only ever seen it at night. The reasonable thing to do would be to go home and force myself to forget about it, but instead, I sat outside the fence for several achingly long hours, just waiting for a glimpse of its glowing halo somewhere inside.

Nothing. No sight of it, even well after the last glow of daylight had dipped below the horizon. I rushed home and hid under my blankets until morning.

ONE.

My father had been gone for three days prior to the discovery of the murders. However, his body was never found among the eight corpses in the temple’s basement. He always used to say how badly he wanted to see the rest of the world; he would homeschool me while we traveled, and we would always be home as long as we were together. If only we had the money to do it, he’d say. Money was the only thing stopping us.

It sounded perfect at the time. Just me and my dad, no loud classmates and overwhelming homework. I’d learn from the real world, just as he said. As I grew older without his influence, though, I started to leave that dream behind, just as my dad left me.

Still, even if I’m not traveling the world on a whim, I could never shake the need to get as far away from this town as possible. Get away from his memory.

The angel was outside my apartment tonight. Perched on a nearby tree to see into my window, it stared deeply at me, right into the tear in my soul. I could see in its hard gaze that it knew me, unlike any other person had. All in an instant, just at the blink of an eye, it could see my all my pain, my misery, my joy, my hopes–everything that made me who I am. I stared right back at it as I swung the window open, holding up a metal bat threateningly.

“I can give you what you want.” It groaned at me. Its voice was harsh but airy, its throat dried out and no longer meant for speech, and yet there was a tone of familiarity to it that only made my stomach churn. Still, it insisted on speaking, leaning in closer to speak my old name again.

I told it that’s not who I am anymore, and it only laughed before spreading out its glowing wings. “Who you are now and who you were before are of no concern to me. Make your choice soon, or none of it will matter at all.” It said before taking off. I watched it launch itself into the sky, but I lost sight of it almost instantly.

Instead, I set my sights on something else.

ZERO.

It wasn’t a hard choice to make, now that I saw everything in front of me clearly. I did put together a bag of clothes and food, but as I was walking through my front door, I threw the bag off my shoulders and let it land hard in the middle of the floor. There was only one thing I would need, I realized. Nothing else mattered–none of it ever mattered.

I stopped at work to buy it. A flash of worry spread across my manager’s face as I held the wooden handle firmly in my hands, telling him I wouldn’t be coming to work tomorrow–or ever again, in fact. I ignored his prying questions as I left the store for the final time.

It wasn’t easy getting past the fence to the temple, but when I finally stepped foot into the abandoned building, I felt a surge of dizzying energy around me. Everything was distant, even my own hands gripping the handle were miles away. The specks of dust that gently floated through the air were white noise on a television, the telltale sign of an absolute nothing, the manifestation of a lack of existence. The filler in our space between one place in time to the next. My life was just that; filler, nothing but biding my time from the last time I ever saw him until now.

That didn’t mean none of it mattered, of course. The deliberate call to attention to nothing in stark contrast to the presence of something can be absolutely vital. The negative space around a portrait provides context and depth to the thing your eye is ultimately drawn to. For the angel to laugh in my face as I declared who I am, dismiss the total nothing of my life, was an insult that cut deeper than it knew.

The cut went right through me. One minute it was there, and the next, blood flowed freely to the floor, pooling around my feet and sending me into a spinning haze. My axe clattered to the floor and I pressed my hand to the wound, where my arm used to be. The angel’s face split into a pleased grin while it accepted my offering. As it spoke my old name for the final time, I weakly retrieved my axe, heaving each painful breath and swaying as I stood upright.

“My name is Ramiel.” I spat through gritted teeth. “And I want your crown.”

The angel’s smile was gone in a second. “My crown?” It asked, lacing its fingers together thoughtfully. “Is it wealth you’re after?”

I stared into its numerous eyes wordlessly.

After a long few minutes of contemplation, the angel lifted the crown off its head. The black substance dripped unresisted down its face, mixing into my blood until we were surrounded by a sea of darkness. The crown was heavy as it carefully placed it upon my head, and as it took a step back to admire me proudly, it gave me a content smile. “You remind me of him,” it sighed fondly. With every ounce of strength I had left, I raised my axe high in the air.

“One more thing.” I said, relishing the way its eyes widened at me. “I want you to regret what I became.”

As I buried my axe into its skull, darkness sprayed everywhere until I was thrust into true nothing. A long, furious shriek pierced through my heart, blood spilling from my chest as I fell to my knees. My back burned white hot like the light that filled the endless void around me. The wings had taken their rightful place behind me, flapping wildly in defiance until slowly forming into a halo. I dragged myself up the stairs from the basement, existence slowly returning to me with each heavy step.

I took my perch on top of the temple, newfound power coursing through my veins. The static of my meaningless existence had ended. I occupied a new space, directly at the center of the world.

[mittensmcedgelord]

Phantoms

LST didn't help me with a title this time.

Yet more of the mimic story wherein Morgan discovers a recording of a Fatal Fortress game, learns something new about his former self, and makes plans to avoid a doctor's visit. ( And where I attempt to lighten the mood after the last update. )

Previous: https://mittensmcedgelord.tumblr.com/post/161916575340/the-human-condition

I feel like I know them. If I shut my eyes, I can hear their thoughts pulse through the coral, the subtle vibrations of memory ghosts. I’ve spent the whole day listening to a backlog of employee recordings from Talos 1 that were ejected when the apex Typhon attacked. Alex held onto them in the hope that maybe, eventually, we’d find their surviving family. I’m sure it wasn’t purely altruistic. There are plenty of logs that are scientific, bits and pieces of Bellamy’s work or employees showing off their new neuromod skills. There are more that aren’t. I told him I wanted to study people, try to understand how they work. It took a lot of convincing and some shameless playing of the ‘little brother’ card, but I got access to the files.

 The memories I have don’t go back far enough to remember the boltcaster fights or the Fatal Fortress games. Not that I think either Yu was ever invited to join in. It sounds like it was a different world back then. The crew is still relatively optimistic. There are still dart gun fights. There’s a different color to it now, though. There’s no Yellow Tulip, for one. Which means that there’s a distinct lack of drunken karaoke and that I will never get to hear Sho sing off key love songs outside of TranScribe recordings. And after the invasion I don’t think anyone is in the mood for drunken karaoke anyway. Now that they’ve encountered Typhon, humans are becoming a little more like them in order to continue. The priority is survival, at all costs, and everything else is frills.

 So, it’s a pleasant surprise when I come across a second recording of Sho singing, this time completely sober. It’s the song she performed during the big show to promote musical neuromods. There’s a few other voices laughing and applauding. Someone wants to know where she even got a banana to use as a microphone. Someone else is teasing her for taking the ‘role play’ aspect of the game too seriously.

“I didn’t realize you dual classed as a bard,” the DM quips. I recognize the voice as Abigail Foy’s from the simulation. “Alright, you get 10XP for that performance. And…”

 I hear shuffling and more laughter. Sho groans. There’s clapping all around the table again before the DM clears her throat and continues triumphantly.

 “You also earn ten gold from the audience.”

 “Hey,” a male voice interrupts. He’s doing his best to sound offended, but it’s obvious he’s not. Something slides across the table. “When I performed I only got silver coins. And I’m an actual bard.”

 “Yes, but she actually sang,” Foy says matter-of-factly and taps something on the tabletop.

 “So did I.”

 “Poorly. Besides, we all know it’s because Abby thinks our new player is cute.” Someone laughs. High pitched. Female. A hint of an accent I don’t quite recognize.

 “I’m cute,” he protests. I have to put a hand over my mouth so I don’t laugh louder than the recording. The other players are enjoying it too. He must have done something because a sharp peal of laughter comes through the speaker.

 “Really, Chang? You’re trying to get Foy to say you’re cute?”

 “And you’re only filling in for Elias for tonight.” The second male voice scoffs. “What do you really XP and gold for?”

 “It’s the principle.”

 “Oh my god,” Sho laughs. “Can someone please just tell Chang he’s cute so we can get on with it? Zack? Emma?”

 “Don’t look at me,” the second male voice says. “Besides, I thought he were busy swooning over Dr. Yu? Or is it just a coincidence that your password is ‘OMGhotboss’?”

 “How did you even know that?”

 “It’s on a post-it note on your desk. It’s more of a surprise that anyone on the station doesn’t know it.”

 I wonder if Morgan ever noticed it. I remember in the sim I saw it almost immediately. He wasn’t exactly trying to hide it. Morgan must have walked past his work station every day and caught a glimpse of it. The ‘devastatingly handsome’ line on his psychoscope profile makes a lot more sense now. Jason Chang was dead by the time the simulation started, though. There weren’t a lot of recordings, either. He had unrestricted access to the office during the testing, which seems like a lot of power for a secretary. Given the office I remember was mostly filled with useless junk, a few books, and a stash of moonshine there probably wasn’t too much to worry about. Another player—Emma, I’m assuming—interrupts my train of thought.

 “Does this have to do with that time at the Yellow Tulip?”

 “You mean the New Year’s party?” Sho sounds smug as she asks. She knows the answer, but clearly wants to hear it from Chang.

 And this is when the audio runs out. I might have yelled ‘damn it’ when the playback stopped, but now at least I know which files to search through for the other game logs. I am, however, left with a significant amount of unanswered questions. Particularly about the New Year’s party in question.

 “How’s it going, Morgan?” Alex’s voice cuts in over the TranScribe. Responding to higher levels of brain activity, maybe. I’m sure whoever monitors my data feed has been getting some interesting response levels.

 “Great.” I’m a little too enthusiastic in responding. I also just found the next log for this session courtesy of Emma Beatty’s ‘IMPORTANT MEETING NOTES’ file.

 “That’s great.” He sounds genuinely happy about that. Considering what a mess my first few days interacting with the crew have been like, I can’t blame him. I hear footsteps on the other end of the line briefly before Alex comes back in. “I’m glad the files are useful. Learning anything interesting?”

 “A little. Wish there was more data on some of the employees. Emma. Zachary. Jason. The latter particularly.”

 “Jason Chang?” He snorts. It’s almost a laugh. “You were drinking buddies. Or something like that. He’s probably why your entire stash of moonshine was missing when you finally made it to your office.”

 I make an executive decision not to mention the “hot boss” thing. Or the party. Alex sounds like he’s impatient to get to the topic he actually called about. I load up the next recording and let it buffer while I wait. He gives me a few seconds to type before continuing ahead.

 “You think you’ll be ready to go face the world again soon?”

 “Yeah. Definitely.”

 “Doctor Igwe told me you were having some trouble with your mimetics the other day.”

 “I wasn’t feeling great. Some people cry, I turn into wispy black sentient smoke. Kind of a weird trade off.”

 “Morgan, try to be serious.” When he says that, I can actually hear him taking his glasses off and pinching his nose. The first Morgan must have been a real joy to work with if that’s such an innate reaction in him. “If you think that’s going to happen again, I need you to be honest with me. We’ve never monitored extreme emotions in Typhon before. It could be a natural reaction to stressful stimuli.”

 “It might. I’m still getting the hang of things.” I’m aware of what a vast understatement this is, but I want Alex to have some faith in me. His optimism about the project is contagious. I’d rather not lose that. I take a breath, hold it for a second, and let it out. My thoughts clear. “If it happens again and I start to change, what do I do? Head back up here?”

 “Or the Typhon Research Lab if you can’t get to the grav shaft. Dr. Park knows about your situation. She’ll help.” He pauses. Something clinks against glass. “She actually wanted to schedule an appointment with you for a physical exam, but it didn’t seem like a good idea right now.”

 “What kind of physical?”

 “DNA stability, mostly. See if the dosage of psi hypos you’re getting is right or if you need any more cell lines to balance things out.” Another pause. I wish I could hear thoughts over TranScribe, but no such luck. Alex makes a small humming noise. “This isn’t about what happened the other day, if that’s what you’re thinking. It’s all routine. Well, it’s going to be a routine. We’ve all got a lot of adjusting to do, but I think once we start getting things back to something like normal it’ll start going a lot smoother.”

 “Yeah.” Now I’m a little glad you can’t project thoughts through a TranScribe. I’m pretty sure fear of doctor’s visits isn’t something I’m supposed to have.  The name Bellamy comes to mind, a swirl of respect and regret, and I remember that I saw his corpse in the sim. I tune out just long enough to get my mind in order and come back to myself to catch the end of Alex’s explanation of the examination procedure.

 “I’ll make arrangements with Dr. Park when you’re feeling up for it,” he finishes. I get the feeling that’s going to be never. The way my body works is as alien to me as it is to anyone else on the station and I’m not sure I want to know the result of a physical, let alone take one. I start to tell Alex that, but think better of it. Silence hangs on the other end of the line producing the kind of gravity specific to situations you don’t want to be in. Glass clicks against one of those gaudy, TranStar coasters. Alex sighs. “Morgan, listen. I know it’s been rough, but you’re doing great. I want you to know that.”

[mindfulrunner]

#53: ottawa marathon: content, but still hungry

It has been over a week since the Ottawa marathon. Time for a formal recap, before the experience melts out of my brain and into the ether, only to haunt me the next time I get serious about fall training - what did I learn?

Goals:

For my second marathon, my main goals were straightforward:

1. Arrive to the starting line healthy (a challenge given my 5 week long cold and ongoing shin whining)

2. Run under sub 3:10 (which my time of just under 2:11 at Around the Bay 30k indicated was in the realm of possibility)

3. Not be a wuss (the language I used was more colourful but kinda sexist - as Betty White puts it, pussies can take a pounding!)

Coach’s instructions were great: “You are prepared. So don’t dwell on pace. You know what you want and what you need to do. As in your recent pattern, stay patient and go for it when you get into the groove.” So let’s add:

4. Stay patient.

My deep secret goals were trickier: run 3:05 – 3:07 (4:24-4:27 pace) on a warmish day by:

5. Staying cool

6. Staying hungry

To me, staying cool meant being tactical on the course with the water stations, taking advantage of my husband’s presence along the course to hand me cooling items, and, most importantly, to pace myself optimally to squeak my time down to these lower numbers. Staying hungry meant believing in myself and silencing the doubters before the race who indicated I should stick to a 3:10 pace. I had something to prove.

The Plan

I wrote up the following strategy and hoped to execute it:

1-10km: 4:28-4:31 pace. Ease in and seize natural gaps that emerge with the aim to come it at the 10k mark between 44-45 minutes

6-20k: Dial back pace if possible and creep toward goal. Work with the crowd around you. Eat, drink and relax.

20-35k: Find a group at pace or slightly faster and latch on. Expect for the pace to require increasing effort the further you run. Begin to focus and channel positive thoughts like “I can do this”, “I am made to go the distance”, “I can handle this no problem”. Goal pace at the half marker: 1:32-1:33. Goal pace at 30k: 2:12-2:13.

35-42k: Expect it will be hard. Relax. You can endure. You can flow. Don’t be a wuss. Don’t count yourself out.

Prepare

Saturday went off without much of a hitch. Friday night I tried to be “fun” by staying out until 1am (we arrived in Ottawa at 11pm) and enjoyed a drink with Jeff in the Byward Market. So, in order to bank the sleep I would not get Saturday night, I slept in until about 12 and then immediately began carb loading before heading over to the Expo.

My goal at the Expo was to limit stress but also secure a 3:10 or 3:05 pace wristband. Unfortunately, none were left, but I made a mental plan to create one on my own using some clear tape, pen, and paper. My failure to do so is now a “lesson learned”.

The day got away from me (also known as: I managed time poorly). My parents were coming into town to meet for dinner and I needed to get a shakeout run in, since I skipped my Friday night run. After dinner (gluten free pasta and probably too much butter), everything was closed. What’s more, because our room got downgraded, I no longer had a kitchen and had to make my oats at my parents’ hotel. Also: the front desk at the hotel had just run out of packing tape. So, no time/supplies to DIY a bracelet.

So I spent the evening slightly fretting over my lack of a pace bracelet and one lost compression sock slightly before settling into bed around 10:30. Jeff went to a sports bar to watch playoffs hockey. I was probably being very annoying to be around: lots of whining and fearful noises (”Use your words, dear”) to try and express I didn’t want a normal piece of paper for the pace chart, since I anticipated dumping water all over myself: temps were to begin at 14 and rise to about 20 by the time I finished the event (10:15am), which, to a runner, feels more like 24 rising to 30. And I didn’t want to run with a single or mismatched compression sock for what I thought were very obvious reasons. Why I couldn’t wear my back-up socks remains unknown.

Anyway, I had wanted to be lying in bed by 9pm, but didn’t make it there until 10:30pm. I read a little of Running with the Mind of Meditation. I went to bed relatively calm and slept decent.

Showtime

I got up at 4:45 and ate my oats and banana and went back to bed until 5:30… thrilling, right?!

At 5:45 (slept in!) I made coffee, sipped Gatorad while I got dressed, applied sunscreen, and basically hung around going to the bathroom (pre-race nerves announce themselves so gracefully). I was just about an 8 minute jog from the start line so I wanted to hang here until about 40 minutes before the race, which was set to start at 7am.

I eventually jogged over and stood in line at another porta potty. This is TMI, I know, but I never really totally relieved myself, which worried me briefly about the need to  make a mid-race stop, although I thankfully did not need to in the race.

I warmed up a tiny bit and saw a few of the Pace & Mind runners and a Black Lungs runner from Toronto. But I said nothing, as is my “it’s before 10am” way of living. I probably only warmed up 2k, with a couple strides.

I took my place between the 3:05 and 3:10 pace bunny. I tried to relax… and I think I straight up was relaxed! I looked around: there were a lot of fit looking men and just a few women in this group! I felt proud to be among them. I overheard the 3:10 pace bunny chatting with some numbers. He mentioned his PB was 2:56 “some years ago”, and I thought that was cutting it close. Typically bunnies choose a very comfortable effort. I realized a lot of 30-40 year old guys were surrounding him because sub 3:10 was a BQ for that category.

The race started. I stayed with the 3:10 pace bunny for a bit before my watch started saying crazy numbers like 4:10 pace. I eased off and tried to keep the group a reasonable distance away. I tried to relax and enjoy the early crowds. But I kept wondering what the heck was going on with this bunny….

At the same time, at 2k I realize my Garmin is having an “off” day. Usually it says I’m going way faster than slower. Keep in mind I was making an effort to NOT weave much for the first 10k and instead wait for gaps to open. But I cross the official 2k flag in exactly 9 minutes, which is fine, but my watch was telling me I’m averaging 4:15-20 kms and that I have run significantly further than 2k.

Key Decision

I decide to ignore my average pace on the watch and instead use the manual lap function and do mental math/counting….

2 Hrs Later

…which is basically what I did for the next 2 hrs, I think, because I remember very little else except the following:

Realizing the 3:10 bunny was way fast at the 5k and 10k timing mats and chatting about it with a couple of fellow runners, including Matt, the fellow who built Monarch Park stadium and gave a shoutout to Longboat

Consciously avoiding running with the group of 20 or so guys around the bunny due to the extra heat the group was giving off

Drinking Gatorade at EVERY station and dumping the water on my head to cool off as a “pre-cooling strategy”. I was anticipating it getting really hot toward the end of the race which can be treacherous

Eventually heeding the advice of one of the runners to try and stick with the 3:10 bunny anyway based on my “real” goals of 3:05-3:07, instead o sticking with my plan for a big negative split

Catching up to the too-fast bunny, but then falling off due to a slight groin tweak. My pace between 21-and 25k significantly slowed due to babying/trying to figure out if this tweak was gonna get worse. I think those kms made the difference between actually injuring myself on the worst-case-scenario side, and squeaking under 3:07 on the best-case-scenario side

Feeling like the little bumps and rises were a bigger deal and more annoying than I anticipated

Manually resetting my watch at every lap marker and counting off the additional seconds in my head when my Garmin inevitably told me I was running further than I did. So, I would begin to approach the 26k marker for example, about 30 metres out my watch would say something dumb like 4:10 pace, and I would eventually realize I was somewhere in the 4:20s.

Rodent Brain

Because of these timing issues, I felt very scattered during the race, trying to remember my approach on the fly, trying to tap back into my relaxed and focus zen state, trying to get competitive, but just spending too much time worrying about TIME.

I was BUMMED I did not have the pace bracelet I was trying to find at the Expo. It would’ve been super handy. I was also bummed about the pace bunny being so crappy. The 3:05 pace bunny dropped out as we were going over the bridge back from Gatineau (I think 24k?). However, thankfully, I think due to my overall relaxed state that weekend and practice racing without paying much attention to my watch this season, I did not panic or start to think negatively which I am very proud of. Regardless, I was definitely not in a flow state or as competitive with the group around me due to my timing uncertainty. I think if I were feeling more bold (e.g., not concerned about my groin, not worried it could get really hot at the end), I would have still been very confident and more competitive with the groups around me.

The Pain Train Commeth

At about 28k the quads got heavy… a little later than my first marathon, Hamilton, where they hurt at 25k. I am mystified by this, looking back, because it did not happen at all that I remember at around the bay, which was 30k, hillier, colder, and a faster pace.

30ish k: I ran through this marker under 2:14, and confident I would achieve my sub 3:10 goal. At this point, I did start to get more competitive. I kept passing the same triathletes, who would later pass me. One woman in my age group ran near me for most of the race, but I think I passed her somewhere before 30k. Two women running together, one with a hydration pack, passed me at one point. The stronger looking of the two broke away somewhere around 33k, and I didn’t see her again. I passed the girl with the hydration pack happily at one point, she surged later, and I made it a hazy goal to catch her somewhere around 35-37, which I did. But she surged around 39 (which is amazing… ultra runner?), spoke some words of encouragement, and I didn’t see her again.

At 37k, we came back to the crowded area. At one point, a cheer group said, and now lets all cheer for Emily and about 15-20 people said GO EMILY, GO EMILY, and that was amazing. Put a huge grin on my face.

From 36 or so onward, my form collapsed HORRIBLY in these stages as the race photos attest. I don’t know if I was thinking about it at all. I was just trying to catch people as I was mostly running alone and run even paces and try and dig into my leg strengths, as I started to breathe heavy.

At 39k I saw a man down…. Totally passed out unconscious. Eyes open. Terrifying. A crowd around him was calling for medics. This is the sad truth about competing and the wall: to finish, I had to put it out of my mind and trust others watching and volunteering to help him. As soon as I crossed the line, I mentioned it to a medic.

Those last 3k were very tough, but in a familiar way this time. I don’t remember too much, except being very annoyed that by the 39k marker I still had a tight turn to execute and no clear line of sight to the finish. The legs got heavy and I chipped away. I continued to pass many people (mostly those who had significantly fallen of pace, some of whom I suspect were overheating or hitting the wall), but was also passed by some.

Amazingly in these last few k I was CONTINUING to do simple math. I kept trying to figure out what time I would finish in if I were to run 5 min kms.

Sweet Relief

An amazing highlight was actually seeing my dad and smiling at him with about 200 metres to go. My mom captured some great photos of this. It was me against the clock… I squeezed just under 3:08 gun time, 3:07:36 chip time.

Afterwards… I felt relieved it was over… I felt proud of the race… I didn’t feel completely incapacitated as in my first marathon. I congratulated those around me, and received congratulations in turn.

Reflections

I explained to Jeff and my parents that the 3:10 pace bunny was well off and that I did indeed reach my goal. And I also wasn’t as immediately sore and stiff (in fact I spent a considerable amount of time walking later that day). I was healthy.

Sadly, I also did not feel a ton of joy or elation. I was very “zen”, I suppose, or displaying equanimity, which has been my goal this season. But I was also confused. I had no distinct impressions from the race, positive or negative immediately afterward, and I was not sure why until I started to write and reflect on the race a couple of days later. My tune up race had been much more enjoyable, with decisive moments where I became competitive or overcame and “got into a groove” and proceeded to “kill it.”

Perhaps I never got there due to the wildly uneven pacing in the first half of the race. Perhaps what I mentioned to some family and friends was true… my head wasn’t into it in the way I needed it to be, so it took a lot more out of me mentally just to get  the basics done (fuel, figure out pace, position, tune into body, etc.). Either way, I can sum my feelings about the race as this: content, but still hungry. Execution left much to be desired.